Lucy's Stand
by Flagg1991
Summary: After a plague kills most of the population, Lucy finds herself on a journey into darkness. Based on Stephen King's The Stand. Cover by Raganoxer.
1. The Dying Time

**Hello, everyone. As some of you might know, I tend to cross The Loud House with existing horror movies (like A Nightmare on Elm Street and Friday the 13** **th** **). This story merges The Loud House with Stephen King's "The Stand." For those of you who have never read the book (or seen the movie), it's about a manmade plague escaping from a government lab and killing approximately 99 percent of the world's population. The survivors begin having strange dreams, and eventually gravitate to one of two camps: The good guys under Mother Abigail, a 108-year-old prophet of God in Nebraska (later Boulder, Colorado), and the bad guys under Randal Flagg, a demonic, antichrist like figure in Las Vegas. The stage is then set for the ultimate showdown between good and evil.**

 **In Lucy's Stand, Lucy survives the pandemic and finds herself drawn to Flagg. Will she realize her mistake before it's too late, or will she give herself entirely to evil?**

 _We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun  
But the wine and the song like the seasons have all gone  
We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun  
But the wine and the song like the seasons have all gone_

\- Terry Jacks

It's funny how quickly things can change. On the morning of June 26, Lucy Loud woke from a fitful sleep, her neck sore and her back aching. Muted morning light trickled in through the window over Lincoln's bed, painting the room a gloomy gray. Lucy blinked her eyes and stretched. She had fallen asleep in a kitchen chair just before dawn, her chin lolling against her chest. By the look of the light, she had only been asleep an hour or two, but her body felt like it had been longer.

Still partially asleep, Lucy bent over and felt Lincoln's forehead. It was cool and clammy. His fever had broken.

Which meant that he didn't have much longer.

Tears flooded Lucy's eyes, and she got up, leaving the room. In the hall, she leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. She knew it was coming. She knew it was coming just as surely as she knew it when Luna and Lynn and Mom and Dad died. Still, a small part of her hoped. It was cruel. They always got better before they died. The fever broke, they felt stronger, they believed, for a short time, that they were going to beat it, but then they went downhill again and died.

He's going to be hungry, she thought dazedly. They always were.

She went downstairs and into the kitchen, moving like a girl in a nightmare. She grabbed a can of soup from the pantry and took it to the fridge, staring at the label. Progresso chicken noodle. It was his favorire.

She lost it then, the tears overwhelming her. Clutching the edge of the counter, she wept, her entire body shaking. He was going to die so she was going to make his favorite soup. She was going to watch him die just like she watched the rest of her family die. She was going to sit helplessly by while it happened. Powerless.

Rage swept through her, and she slammed the soup can into the side of the microwave, denting both. She slammed it again and again, sobbing as she did so. The can fell from her hands and she sank to her knees, resting her head against the cabinet door.

It's the end of the world. Everyone's dying and you're going to survive and be totally, utterly alone.

That thought scared her. She envisioned herself picking through the decaying remains of Royal Woods, dirty, alone, the only person left alive in the whole world.

Lincoln needs his breakfast.

That brought her back. Lincoln needed her, and here she was crying on the kitchen floor. She tittered nervously and got to her feet. Robotically, he opened the can and poured the contents into a chipped bowl. She stuck it in the microwave and heated it for three minutes. When it came out, it was hot, so she dropped a couple of ice cubes in. She put the bowl, a spoon, and a can of soda on a serving tray and carried it up the stairs, moving slowly, terrified of dropping it all.

When she entered Lincoln's room, he was sitting up, his head thrown back. When he heard her, he opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," Lucy replied evenly. She sat the tray across his lap. "I made your favorite soup. I figured you'd be hungry."

"Thanks," he said.

Lucy sat in the chair and looked at her hands.

"How's everyone else?"

She blinked. "Luan's hanging in there."

That was a lie. Luan died at 5:45 that morning, gasping for breath. Her eyes were wide and terrified. All Lucy could do was hold her hand.

"That's all?" Lincoln asked.

Lucy nodded.

Lincoln stared down into his soup.

"How do you feel?"

"Okay," he said. "I think I might be getting over it."

That's what Luan thought, too.

"How do you feel?"

"Fine," Lucy said. Before Lisa fell sick and died, she ran a battery of tests on the "Superflu" in hopes of producing a vaccine. She fell before she could, but she found, or so she said, that roughly 1 percent of the population would be naturally immune. Lucy supposed she was one of them. Though she feared she was the only one.

"That's good," Lincoln said. He started eating. "Can you turn the TV on?"

The previous evening, Lucy carried the old black and white TV into Lincoln's room and sat it on the nightstand so that he would have something to watch. She got up, crossed the room, turned it on, and went back to her chair.

On the screen, CNN flashed images of fire and destruction. Looters ran rampant through the streets of New York City, while soldiers burned massive piles of bodies along I-95. The scroll along the bottom read: - MARTIAL LAW NOW IN EFFECT – PRESIDENT LEAVES WASHINGTON – SUPERFLU REPORTED IN LONDON, MOSCOW – ROLLING BLACKOUTS IN CALIFORNIA, NEW YORK – VACCINE IN DEVELOPMENT.

Neither one of them spoke. What could they say?

Lincoln finished half of his soup then sat his spoon down. "I'm tired," he said simply.

Lucy nodded grimly. That's how it went. They got tired, they laid down, then an hour later, they were gone.

"I'll take this," she said, grabbing the tray. She sat it in the hall and closed the door.

For a while, Lincoln laid back, looking at the ceiling. "You remember that time we went camping because I couldn't decide whether we should go to Dairyland or the beach?"

Lucy nodded. Remembering.

"That was fun."

It was fun. Just them, in nature, hiking, swimming, enjoying each others' company. Lucy blinked back tears. What she would give to go back to that time. She would have spent more time with her family. She would have put her stupid book down and hugged her sisters.

"Or that time you flushed that pony comic and I took the blame."

Lucy nodded. "Yeah," she said, her lips quivering. She didn't trust herself to say more, but she did, "You're a good brother."

Lincoln chuckled. "You're paying it back, though."

After that, he lapsed into sleep, and Lucy dvided her attention between him and the TV. Pictures of soldiers shooting looters were followed by reports of highways being closed to traffic. A man in New York City claimed troops were stationed at the Lincoln Tunnel, blocking exit from Manhattan.

In bed, Lincoln slowly turned for the worst. His neck started swelling and sweat stood out on his forehead. His breathing became more and more labored.

I can't do this. Not again.

Lincoln stirred. His eyes fluttered.

I've already done it twelve times. Please, God, don't make me do it again. Please, God, please, please, please...

His eyes flew open. He was on his side now, choking.

Tears obscured Lucy's vision.

Please, God, please, not again. Let him live...

He reached for her. He was gasping, his body trembling. She took his hand in hers and wept. So cried so hard that it masked the sound of Lincoln drowning in his own phlegm. His hand squeezed her tightly. Painfully. Their life together flashed through her mind, and she cried harder.

Eventually, his grip loosened. His hand fell away.

She looked at him.

His face was twisted in agony, his eyes bulging from their sockets, his mouth crusted with foam.

Lucy got up and ran, bumping into the door frame and staggering into the hall, where she collapsed, her body wracked with the force of her sobs.

She stayed that way for a long time.


	2. And Then There Was One

Lucy Loud aimlessly wandered the Loud house, her eyes bleary and her mind faraway. She looked at photos in the living room. Smiling, happy faces. She picked one up off the mantle and examined it closer. It was Luan, Luna, Lana, and Lynn standing in front of the house. Numbly, she put it back.

In the kitchen, she sat at the table and stared blankly into the backyard. The sky was still gray, threatening rain. They could use it. The last rainy day she could remember was in May. In the meantime, it had been hot and dry. Dad said it was going to be a hot summer. Climate change and all.

Time passed in a blur. She drank a can of soda, then forced down a handful of chips. There weren't many left, and if she ate them all, the others would be mad. In her room, she sat on her bed and stared at the wall. The bust of Edwin watched her from the top of her dresser. She locked eyes with him. His gaze was cold, inscrutable. She didn't like it.

She looked away. Lynn's bed was empty. She was the first to go. She died at the hospital. Lilly too.

Lucy's heart twinged, and she looked away. She drew her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth. They were dead. All dead.

And she was alone.

An idea struck her then. She jumped up, dropped to her knees, and rummaged under her bed, finally bringing out her Ouiji board. She sat in up on her bed, but before she could get started, something like dread came over her: What if she really did contact the others? What if...?

The idea disturbed her. Sighing, she left the room and went downstairs. A walk. She needed a walk to clear her head.

Outside, the day was warm and breezy. No cars moved in the street. She followed the sidewalk in a random direction, letting her mind wander.

 _Captain Tripps is a funny name. That's what they called it out west, the news said. Captain Tripps. It was a band from the sixties or something. Why did they named a virus after a band? Why not "The Red Death" or simply "The Plague"? Why "Captain Tripps"? It was stupid. It didn't sound deadly at all. It didn't sound like something that spread around the world in a week and killed everyone it touched. It sounded like tie-dye and acid washed jeans._

Lucy found herself downtown. The streets were empty. At an intersection up ahead, a truck sat with its nose against the crumpled door of a car. A body hung out the window of the former. A big, black crow perched on the cadaver's back, watching her with beady eyes. A strange feeling came over her, and she stopped.

 _He lives in the wild things,_ she thought, and shook her head. What did _that_ mean? What did _anything_ mean anymore?

The crow cawed and flapped its wings.

Lucy walked past it, and until she turned down Union Avenue, she could feel it watching her.

She blanked out as she walked, and eventually found herself standing on the front step of a small, beige house with white trim. She knew the place, but couldn't immediately place it. Then it hit her: Clyde's house. She was at Clyde's house.

She knocked on the door, but there was no answer. She knocked again and again and again. Nothing.

Finally, she gave up and left, walking down the middle of the street. The houses fronting the sidewalk were all dark and shuddered. She imagined the dead watching her through the windows, and shuddered.

She met only one other living person on her rambling walk through Royal Pines, an old man sitting against the front end of a Pinto and drinking from a bottle of clear liquid. His face was tan and weatherbeaten. His clothes were dirty and ragged. He saw her, smiled, and lifted the bottle. "Mornin', miss!" he cried.

Lucy glanced at him.

"It's the end of time! You thirsty?"

She walked on, and the sound of his cackling laughter followed her all the way home.

 _I'm late,_ she thought. The others would be mad.

She opened the door and went inside. It was dim and quiet. Of course it was. The others were all dead. She knew that. She knew that.

She flopped onto the couch and cried until she slept.


	3. House of the Dead

Lucy came awake in the murky light of dusk. She sat up, rubbed her head, and blinked her eyes. She tried to remember the dream she'd been having, but despite wracking her brain, the only thing she could recall was being at peace, her tears wiped away by big, rough hands.

Getting up, she made her way stiffly to the bathroom and relieved herself. In the hall, she glanced at each of the doors. They were closed tight. Beyond were the remains of her family.

She drew a watery sigh and went back to the living room, turning on every light she passed. Lucy usually enjoyed the darkness, but not tonight, not when she was alone in a house of the dead.

On the couch, she found the remote and turned on the TV, hoping to distract herself from the grief lurking below the surface, but she found static on every channel except NBC: An old episode of _Friends_ played, the canned laugh track disturbing her. _Most of those people are probably dead now_ , she thought. Nevertheless, she sat the remote in her lap and watched as Joey and Chandler's latest scheme blew up in their faces. _Seinfeld_ was next. Kramer burst into Jerry's apartment and, oh, the laughter. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. That crazy Kramer. "Way to make an entrance," she said numbly, channeling her inner Luan. She chuckled. If only Luan was here, sitting next to her...

Lucy blinked back fresh tears and shook her head. Luan was dead. Everyone was dead. Pitiying herself wasn't going to bring them back. Neither was watching reruns on TV.

Suddenly, Lucy felt so stricken that she could barely breathe. What was she going to do? Where was she going to go? She closed her eyes, and a snatch of the dream returned to her. A man with rugged features sat beyond a fire, his eyes dark and shining. He smiled at her, and she knew, in that instant, that everything was going to be alright. She opened her eyes and took a deep, shuddery breath. She looked around the room. The walls were so far away. Was the house _always_ this big?

She paused when her gaze fell to the front window. Backlit against the dying light of the day was a crow. Was it the same one from earlier? It watched her, its head cocked quizzically. Unthinkingly, she got up and crossed the carpet. The crow tapped on the window pane with its beak. It wanted in.

Why not? Maybe it would peck her to death and she could join her family...wherever they were.

She lifted the window, and the crow hopped onto the inside sill. Lucy watched warily as it nodded its head several times. It wanted her to pick it up.

She held out her arm, and the crow jumped onto it. It looked at her and cawed softly. She took it back to the couch and sat down. She watched TV as she stroked the crow's tiny head. Her fear, her anxiety, melted away, replaced by an even calm. She thought of Lola and Lana in their rooms, their bodies covered by white sheets. Instead of insufferable pain, she felt only a dull sense of loss.

The crow eventually jumped off her arm and nestled in her lap. She stroked its feathers. Crows were misunderstood, she thought. Like her. Crows were noble creatures, free and stoic. Again, like her.

As she petted the crow, more of her dream came back to her. The man behind the fire spoke to her in a voice like smooth thunder. What he said escaped her, but she remembered feeling a burst of...joy? Contentment? She thought of Lincoln, the way he reached for her as he died, and her heart seized. Sensing it, perhaps, the crow nestled its head against her like a puppy.

At 11:01pm, the light flickered, dimmed, then went out. In the distance, a loud roar sounded. A transformer blowing, she thought. All the techs were dead or fled. It was bound to happen.

Sighing, she laid back on the couch, and the crow settled down on her.

"I miss my family," she said, and sighed. "I-I wasn't always _there_ , but I loved them. So much."

The crow cawed softly as if it understood.

"If I could do it all over again, I would spend more time with them."

She stated this not emotionally, but as a simple fact.

In time, Lucy drifted off. In her dream, she was sitting on a rock and facing a fire. It was night so she couldn't see, but she got the impression that she was in a desert. Stars twinkled in the sky.

"You're a brave little girl," a voice said.

Lucy looked up, and saw the man from before. His features were craggy and dark, the shadows clinging to him. He was wearing a jean jacket adorned with many pins and buttons.

He flashed a warm grin. "I've seen grown men break down and kill themselves in your situation. Hell, I saw a man just this morning hang himself in his garage. But you...you're stronger than that."

A cold wind sprang up, and Lucy hugged herself. "I don't feel very strong," Lucy said honestly.

"The strong never do," the man said, "just like the smartest people always doubt themselves while idiots...well, idiots think they know it all."

"I miss my family."

She felt tears welling in her eyes, and suddenly the man was beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders and drawing her to him. He smelled like dust, earth, and highway. It was a comforting scent.

"I know," he said seriously. "And you always will. Your family is...your family is special. You have only one. They know you like no one else, and they've seen you like no one else ever will." The man looked into her eyes then, and Lucy's heart began beating faster. "I can't replace what you lost, Lucy, no one can. But I _can_ offer you a...a new start. I can offer you a new family. It won't take the place of your old family, but it'll help."

Lucy thought about that for a long time. Tearfully, she nodded. "I'd like that."

The man hugged her. "Good."

When Lucy woke in the early morning light, two words were rattling in her brain: LAS VEGAS.


	4. The Great Leap Forward

The crow was gone when Lucy woke, if it had ever been there at all. She thought it was part of the dream. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. And maybe, just maybe, she was losing her mind.

After using the bathroom and getting a drink from the kitchen, she found herself in the driveway, standing next to Vanzilla, her arms crossed against the early morning chill. Birds chirruped happily from unseen perches, but otherwise, the world was as silent as a tomb.

 _This is stupid,_ she thought. _It was just a dream._

She thought back to the many vivid dreams she had had over the years, some of them so lifelike that she swore they were real. Lisa was always quick to point out how preposterous that was. _"Dreams are mental images and nothing more. You can't see the future or talk to the dead."_

Deep down, she knew Lisa was right. Still, recalling the previous night's outing, she felt...she felt like it really _was_ more than a dream. A vision, maybe. And the man ( _Flagg..._ how she knew his name she didn't know) was...what?

She didn't know. She just didn't know anymore. In two weeks' time she watched her family die and the world she knew collapse. She didn't know anything.

Except that she couldn't stay in Royal Woods. There would be other survivors (of course there would be, Lisa said so, and Lisa was the smartest person on the planet), and they would come together. Where or how she didn't know, but she was certain that they would. Where in the wide United States could she go? Anywhere, really. One place would be very much like another. So...why not Las Vegas?

She opened the passenger door and climbed onto the seat. She opened the glovebox, and out fell a folded map of the US. She picked it up and carried it inside. Sitting on the couch, she opened it and froze.

A line had been drawn from Royal Woods southwest to Las Vegas in red pen. The route crossed Michigan before dipping down into Indiana, then Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, Utah, and finally into Nevada. Vegas had been circled several times. Below it were the letters "R" and "F."

Lucy swallowed and looked up from the map. The crow was at the window again, watching her.

So it was true. It _wasn't_ just a dream. Flagg was real.

She swallowed again. This was insane.

But exciting.

Something occurred to her. She went to her room, grabbed her crystal ball off the table, and sat on her bed with it. Taking a deep breath, and hoping this worked, she laid her trembling hands on it and envisioned Flagg. The ball, clear and dark, lit up, and mist began swirling inside. She blinked, her breath catching in her throat. This had never happened before.

Rapidly, the mist cleared, and a vision took form: A long, straight highway surrounded by desert. On it was a white sports car. Behind the wheel was Flagg. He was wearing a denim jacket, just like in her dream, and a pair of sunglasses. His long brown hair trailed in the wind. He turned, then, and smiled. Lucy started and pulled her hands from the crystal: The ball went dark and silent.

 _Arizona. He's in Arizona. He's going to get Lloyd._

Who was Lloyd?

She didn't know, but the name loomed in her mind. Lloyd. She closed her eyes and saw the dark outline of a thin man standing at what looked like prison bars.

"Help me!" he screamed, then clanged the bars with a jagged length of metal. "Please, help me!"

She opened her eyes. He was trapped. Starving. She could _feel_ his desperation.

But it was okay.

Flagg was going to save him, the way he was saving her, the way he would save everyone.

For the first time in her entire life, Lucy Loud felt moved to pray. She got down on her knees beside her bed, folded her hands, and searched for the appropriate words, but they escaped her.

Finally, she spoke, the words coming from her heart: "I don't know what you are, but thank you." She stopped then thought for a long time. A phrase came to her, and she was certain that it came not _from_ here, but from _outside_ of her.

She opened her eyes, looked at the ceiling, and said: "My life for you."

\- 2 –

It took Lucy and hour to pack. She took one of Lynn's gym bags, sat it on her bed, and threw in several changes of clothes, socks, and underwear. Taking a deep breath, she went into Luan's room. Even though she tried not to breath, the smell assaulted her nostrils.

She pulled back the sheet covering Luan's body and, trying not to look into her sweet sister's face, plucked the artificial flower she wore on her shirt. She then went to Luna. She reached under the sheet, found Luna's cold hand, and slipped one of the bracelts off of her wrist; she put it on her own.

Next, she went to Lori and Leni's room. She took Leni's sunglasses and Lori's cross necklace. She took trinkets from every other member of the family. The final piece was a small, pocket sized photo album from the living room. Before she stuffed it into her bag, she flipped through it, smiling warmly at the frozen images of her family. Tears did not well in her eyes, but her heart throbbed dully. She missed them. And she'd miss this house.

 _I'll come back one day,_ she thought as she zipped up the bag and threw it over her shoulder. _I'll come back and maybe I'll fix it up._

Outside, the sun was high and bright in the cloudless sky. The day was hot, but a cool breeze blew from the west.

In the garage, she took Lynn's bike and walked it to the curb. She looked one more time over her shoulder. So many memories in that house. So much happiness.

She climbed on and pedaled north along Franklin Avenue. At the corner of Franklin and Main, she took a left and passed through downtown. Trash skitted across the street and sidewalk. A few windows had been broken, glass littering the ground. On Railroad Street, she saw a dead man lying the sidewalk. Next to him was a dead dog. Lucy couldn't help but wonder if they died together, or separately.

At the I-94 on ramp, she glanced over her shoulder again. Royal Woods stretched out behind her. Dead. Empty. A graveyard of brick and glass. A sense of loss came over her, and she turned away.

Ahead, both lanes of the interstate were crazily jammed with stalled traffic. The enormity of the journey ahead struck her, and for a moment she nearly flagged (heh, get it?). But there was a man across a whole lot of country waiting for her. A kind, gentle man. And a new family. A new home. A new life.

Lucy started pedaling.

She did not look back this time.

No, she had decided, she never _would_ come back. Too many ghosts.

And not the good kind.


	5. A Very Special Task

Sunset found Lucy fifteen miles west of Royal Woods. The land was flat and dotted with barns, farmhouses, and grain silos. A service road ran along the interstate, its northern edge bordered by a wire fence. Since leaving, she had encountered no one, only bodies, some of them lying in the road so that she had to ride around them, most of them trapped in their cars, slumped over the wheel, or out the window. She tried not to look at them as she passed, but grim curiosity got the better of her; after a while, she kept seeing Lincoln over and over again, and had to look away.

An hour before sundown, she stopped and consulted the map to make sure she was on the right route, even though she knew she was: I-94 would carry her all the way to Lake Michigan, then south into the industrial towns dotting its southern tip: Michigan City Gary, Hammond. She tucked the map back into her bag and took a long drink from Lynn's canteen. Though she knew she hadn't made much progress, she was tired, and her skin was beginning to burn. She damned herself for not going out into the sun more often and building up a resistance. Though, in her defense, she never imagined she'd have to bicycle halfway across the country. She never imagined that her family –

She cut the thought off there and started pedaling again. The sunlight was growing weaker, shadows were growing longer. Her legs ached.

As she rode, she let her mind wander. She thought of all the places she would see, all the cities and countryside. She was especially excited about the Utah/Nevada badlands, the rough, rugged desert stretching across the very northern flank of the southwest. Lucy had always been fascinated by the desert. It was stark and beautiful and filled with cacti, scorpions, and tarantulas. It was a place she always hoped to visit.

How long would it take her to get to Las Vegas? Two weeks? A month? She wasn't very athletic. If she felt this way after less than ten miles, she figured that's all she would be able to make in a day, for a little while at least. At that rate, she'd be putzing around near Lake Michigan by July 4th, and probably wouldn't get through Utah until early to mid-August. The thought exhausted her, but she realized that she had nothing but time. She'd get there and all of this would be nothing but a bad memory.

By the time twilight was pooling in the meadows south of the highway, she was beginning to think of bed. Where exactly would "bed" be, though? She cast her gaze across a vast field and spotted a farmhouse on a hill. Something told her to keep going. There would probably be bodies inside.

Then again, where _weren't_ there bodies? It was the apocalypse, after all. She'd seen more death in ten miles than she thought she'd see in her entire life.

As if in answer, a crow appeared beside her, its wings batting. She glanced at it, and once it knew it had her attention, it flew ahead and left the road, coming to roost in the branches of a tall, shady tree. The ground around it was soft and grassy. Lucy smiled.

She hopped off the bike and walked it to the guardrail. She leaned it and climbed over. "You're a good friend," she told the crow. It looked down at her and flapped her wings as if to say _I know._

A strange thought crossed her mind then. "Is that you, Lincoln?"

The crow turned its head left and right. _No._

"You're not the spirit of my brother?"

The crow shook its head again.

"Okay," Lucy said, something like disappointment rising within her. She knew it was stupid, but for a moment, the thought of her brother's spirit guiding her into the promised land, looking out for her even from beyond the grave, made her happy.

She sat in the grass and leaned against the tree. The crow flapped its winds and landed in her lap.

"Can I call you Lincoln?"

The crow lifted its head and dropped it. _Yes_.

She smiled. "Okay." She rubbed its tiny head with her index finger. "I have a long way to go, don't I, Lincoln?"

The crow cawed.

"Yeah. But I'll get there. And maybe I can..."

She trailed off. She was about to say 'forget everything,' but she didn't _want_ to forget anything.

Suddenly depressed, she reached into the bag and brought out two items: One of Lynn's sports bars, and the photo album.

As she ate, she flipped through the book. The crow watched with interest.

"That's Luan," Lucy said around a mouthful of granola, "she's – _was-_ a comedian. Her jokes stank though."

Lucy smiled fondly.

"And that's Leni. She was a total blond."

Hot tears blurred her vision, and she rubbed them away. The crow looked at her with concern. "I'm okay," she said. The light had drained almost entirely from the day. Crickets chirped. She put the album back into the bag and zipped it up.

"Will you stay with me tonight?"

The crow nodded.

"Thank you. I've never been outside alone at night. At least...out _here_."

The crow dipped its head and rubbed her leg.

"I love you, Lincoln," she said, and rubbed its head.

Soon, she was asleep, and in her dreams, Flagg came to her. He wore jeans, rundown cowboy boots, and his signature jean jacket. They were by a fire in the desert, like last time, and, also like last time, she felt warm and safe.

"I'm so sorry, Lucy," he said, putting his arm around her.

"About what?" she asked, looking up at him. His eyes were sad, the corners of his dark face turned down.

"About all of this," he said, "your family meant a lot to you. I knew that. I just didn't know _how_ much."

Lucy nodded and looked into the fire. "Yeah. Neither did I. Until now. But it's not your fault."

"No," Flagg sighed, "but I felt like I could have stopped it."

Lucy looked at him, puzzled.

Flagg looked away. "Once in every generation, the plague shall fall among them. That's from the Bible." Flagg's face darkened. "The word of a bloodthirsty god who's been dying for a thousand years. The center cannot hold. That's..."

"Yeats," Lucy said.

Flagg smiled and nodded. "Right. Nothing lasts forever, Lucy. Nothing. Not even god. Have you ever read the Bible?"

"Some," Lucy said.

"He's a bastard, isn't he?"

Lucy opened her mouth to speak but stopped. She'd had that very thought a thousand times, but in a Catholic family like hers, uttering that would be blasphemy, and even though she never truly believed in God, she still couldn't bring herself to say something like that.

"Kill this one, kill that one. How many times has he killed the entire world? Once or twice, at least. He got close in 1348." Flagg chuckled. "Starving children, child molesters, Hitler. Does that sound like a loving god to you?"

Lucy shook her head. It didn't.

"Now this...the whole world. Your brother, your sisters..."

Lucy nodded, suddenly seeing so clearly that it hurt. God did this. Just like he'd done 9/11 and WWII and AIDS.

"A dying ball of energy," Flagg said. "Going supernova. That's what this was. But you know?"

Lucy looked up at him. "What?"

"He's gone now," Flagg said, and grinned. "He's gone, and we can rebuild. Oh, the things we can do."

Lucy gazed deeply into the fire and saw it. Vast, bustling cities, flying cars, no hate, no bigotry, no more terror attacks.

"But there are people who want to take us back, Lucy. And there's a woman..."

Flagg trailed off. In the fire, Lucy saw the gaunt, wrinkled face of a black woman, her hair white and wispy. She was sitting in a canned rocker on the front porch of a shack.

"Her," Flagg said tightly. "She has powers. Like me. She's not as strong as I am, but she's strong enough."

Flagg looked down at her, and the intensity of his eyes scared her. "She's going to deceive a lot of people, Lucy. And when she's done, she going to turn them loose on us. Finish what her God started."

"W-Why?" Lucy asked.

"Because all they can do is hate. And once we're out of the way, they'll grow to hate each other. In a hundred years they'll kill each other, and the old world will pass away. Cold. Alone."

Lucy saw it in her mind, and it scared her.

"We're it, Lucy. We're mankind's last chance."

Flagg suddenly knelt and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I need you to do something for me, Lucy."

Lucy gazed into his eyes. "Anything."

"She's in a town called Hemingford Home. It's in Nebraska. Go there...and kill her."

Lucy nodded. The thought repelled her, but the abhorrent woman repelled her even more.

"I wish it didn't have to happen," Flagg said, "but it does." He looked away, as if ashamed. Sorrow filled Lucy, and she touched his cheek. He turned.

"I'll do it," she said.

Flagg smiled. "You have to be quick. Soon there will be others like her."

In the thin morning light, she sat up. The crow was resting on the bag, watching her. She reached inside and pulled out the map. She traced the route through Nebraska. It went right through a place called Hemingford Home.

She thought of the old woman, and of the armies she would send, and quivered.

The crow hopped into her lap.

"We have to go," she said, "now."


	6. Across State Lines

_The wind blows hard against this mountain side, across the sea into my soul  
It reaches into where I cannot hide, setting my feet upon the road_

 _My heart is old, it holds my memories, my body burns a gemlike flame  
Somewhere between the soul and soft machine, is where I find myself again_

 _Kyrie eleison, down the road that I must travel  
Kyrie eleison, through the darkness of the night  
Kyrie eleison, where I'm going will you follow  
Kyrie eleison, on a highway in the light_

\- Mr. Mister

Lucy Loud reached Lake Michigan on the afternoon of June 30, two days after leaving Royal Woods. Her legs ached and her back was sore; her face and arms were sunburned. On the 29th, she stopped only twice, once to relieve herself in a stand of bushes, and again to change into a black tank top. She biked through the night of the 29th, and stopped for an hour on the morning of the 30th to rest underneath the shade of an interstate overpass. She met no one on her journey.

Sitting astride her bike on the gravel shoulder of I-96 and looking out across the sun-dappled lake, she wondered how she had done it. It was well over a hundred miles from here to there, if not more. The first day she made ten miles and was bushed. Did she _really_ make ninety (or more) in less than two days, with no sleep?

"What do you think, Lincoln?" she asked the crow perched on her shoulder. Lincoln cawed.

 _It was Flagg_ , the caw said, and Lucy agreed. He had used his boundless power to make her go faster, or to make time and space fold. She didn't know. She didn't need to know.

"Well, come on."

She started peddling again, swerving in and out of stalled traffic. At one point, she had to get off and walk her bike between a stalled military truck parked across the road and the concrete divider. After that, the road opened up and remained relatively clear for miles. She sailed along, the salty wind in her hair, the lake always to her right. She had to be fast, she told herself. Soon, they would come to the old woman, and then they would leave Nebraska for Boulder. If she didn't strike before they came, she would fail Flagg, and the shame would probably kill her.

 _My life for you,_ she thought.

A half an hour after starting south, Lucy became aware of danger. Before she could slack her speed, a man jumped out from behind a UPS truck and knocked her off balance: She flipped over the handlebars and slammed to the pavement, the wind rushing out of her in a muffled _Umph!_

The man was suddenly on top of her, his hands flying to her throat. His eyes were the faded blue of a man who had seen too much, and his skin was the color of burned cheese. Tufts of hair clung to his bald scalp.

"I got you now, you little bitch," he yelled as he wrapped his hands around her neck. Lucy lashed out and raked her fingers down the side of his face, tearing his skin. He took no note, however.

"You're gonna make a nice addition to the zoo. Yes you are."

Like an avenging angel, Lincoln swooped out of the sky and dove at the man's face. He screamed and threw his hands up to defend himself. Seizing the opportunity, Lucy balled her fist and hit him in the stomach. The blow wasn't very hard, but it was enough to knock him off balance. Screaming, he toppled over then shot to his feet. Lincoln was on top of him, drilling him in the head and hands with his beak. Lucy watched in stunned amazement.

Then it happened.

A shadow passed across the sun, and Lucy looked up. A thousand crows filled the sky. As she gaped, they dove and attacked the man. He screamed, lost in a writhing black mass. Lucy blinked. They were carrying the man off of the ground. He wailed and jerked, waving his hands around. With beaks and talons, the army of birds carried him high into the sky, and then let him drop.

He fell for a long time, howling, before he thudded to the pavement, a burst of gore shooting across the blacktop.

The birds hovered overhead for a minute, then, cawing in a thousand tiny voices (were they saying _Lucy...Lucy...Lucy?),_ they departed, flying west.

She jumped when Lincoln landed on her shoulder.

Breathing heavily, glancing several times at the man's broken form, she climbed onto her bike and rode away, pedaling as fast as she could.

 _You saved me,_ she thought miles later. The interstate was currently passing along the edge of a factory town. Smokestacks rose silently into the air, forever stalled by the flu. Far off in the east, a giant column of black smoke poured into the sky.

Though Flagg didn't answer, she was certain that he had heard her.

 _Thank you._

Lincoln cawed.

She couldn't help but smile. She felt...she felt special, like The Chosen One in one of those dopy fantasy paperbacks she occasionally read at night, when everyone else was asleep. She had to admit, it was pretty cool.

 _I'm too important to die._

And she knew that was the truth. Three states over, a spiteful old woman practicing a dead, hateful religion was going to try and kill her and everyone else the way her god had killed Lincoln and Luan and Lynn and everyone else. It was up to her, Lucy Loud, to stop the old bitch.

And she would.

That night, she camped in a town park five miles south of the Indiana state line. Lincoln gathered up some twigs and dropped them on the ground. Using some rocks from a nearby playground, she made a makeshift firepit, then lit the kindling. The fire was small but warm. She ate one of Lynn's sports bars, not realizing how hungry she was until she was done and wanting more. She only had a couple left. Not enough to get her to Iowa, she figured. In the morning she'd have to raid a grocery store for food. Beans, maybe, and some boil-in-bag rice.

She wondered what she would be eating right now if she was back home. What day was it, anyway? She thought Lincoln died on the 25th, so that would make today the...29th? A Thursday? Noodle casserole, probably. She hated dad's noodle casserole, but the thought of tasting it one more time made her ache with longing.

Her sleep was deep and dreamless that night. She woke in the early morning hours of July 1, cold and covered in dew. Inside a building housing public restrooms, she changed into new clothes and studied her face in the mirror. Her complexion was definitely getting darker, and her face looked thinner, too. She secretly thought she looked like a pig, but not anymore. Or at least soon. All the exercise and fresh air was doing her good.

Back in the park, Lincoln was waiting for her. "Good morning, Lincoln," she said, and squatted to pet him. "We have to get going."

Full dawn had just crested by the time she got back on the interstate. With any luck, she'd be in Illinois by sundown, though she doubted it. On the map, it looked _reaaaally_ far away. If she rode through the night again she could probably make it by morning.

She followed the road for several hours, her mind cast adrift, before the gurgling of her stomach roused her. She remembered her pledge to scavange some food, and briefly considered ignoring her hunger, but instead she got off at the next exit and rolled into a small town with brick sidewalks and cobblestone streets.

"Very Victorian," Lucy said, and Lincoln cawed.

She found a supermarket at the end of a one way street. The parking lot was empty save for a police car with its doors standing open. The store's front windows had been smashed in, and cans, boxes, and bags littered the walkway.

"Looks like someone's already been here."

Inside, the store was hot and dark. She selected a basket from a rack by the door, and walked around, not knowing where to find anything. The fruit and vegitables in the produce aisle were rotting; big fat flies buzzed through the air, alighting here and there. The meat in the cabinet along the back wall had turned dark brown, and the milk was bad too. In one aisle, she found a can of kidney beans with a pop-top lid, and dropped it into the basket. "I like kidney beans," she said. "Because they look like kidneies."

Lincoln cawed.

"It's not gross," she said defensively.

Farther down the aisle, she found a can of whole stewed tomatoes. "I like these because it's like eating someone's heart," she said as she dropped it into the basket.

Lincoln cawed.

"What can I say? I'm morbid."

Before she left, she also picked up a box of boil-in-bag rice, a bottle of warm Pepsi, and a pot. She stuffed it all into Lynn's bag and climbed onto the bike. "I'll probably just throw it all together later on," she said. "Beans, tomatoes, and rice. Sound good?"

Lincoln cawed.

"Good. I just need to worry about where I'm going to find water."

No, she didn't, she reminded herself as she pedaled back toward the interstate. Flagg would provide.

Flagg watches out for his own.

She thought back to the man the crows had killed back in Michigan, the man who was going to kill her, or worse. She smiled as she remembered the way he body plummeted helplessly toward the ground, smiled as she remembered his blood spurting across the pavement. Where was "God" for his people? Where was God for all of his children who died over the past two weeks? Nowhere. He was nowhere. He watched as it happened. Where was he when his people cried out to him? Oh, in the Bible he was right there, quick to talk from a cloud or a bush, but outside of it? Nowhere.

Flagg wasn't like that. Flagg cared for his people. He wanted them to be safe and happy and taken care of.

As far as Lucy was concerned, Flagg _was_ God. Any other gods were phony.

Just like that woman in Nebraska. A hateful, bloodthirsty monster. Lucy couldn't wait to wrap her hands around the old bitch's throat and squeeze, couldn't wait to watch the life drain out of her ancient brown eyes. For Lincoln. And Luna. And Lola and Lana and all the others.

She couldn't save them from the flu. She tried. But she _could_ save others. She could save Flagg and his other followers, and all of the people who'd fall for Abagail's lies.

"That's how I'm going to make it up to you, Lincoln," she said grimly, pedaling faster. She saw her brother reaching for her, desperate and dying, his eyes beseeching. _Lucy, help me. Do something._

She was helpless then, but not this time. She was powerful. She had Flagg on her side and she could do anything.

She would save the world.

She would save it for all the future brothers and sisters. For the future moms and dads. There would be no more war, no more plague, no more famine. She would make sure of it. No matter what it took.

Sunset found Lucy fifty miles east of the Illinois border. Without a second thought, she continued into the night, pumping her legs, the aches, pains, and soreness in her body fading away, medicated by Flagg and by her own determination. Lincoln sat quietly on her shoulder, but she could feel his approval. Her stomach gurgled, but she ignored it. When did she eat last? Yesterday? The day before?

It didn't matter. She had a very special task and Flagg would see her through. She would eat (and rest) when she was closer to Abagail. Until then, she would sleep and eat only when she had to.

Lincoln nudged her, and she momentarily took her eyes off the road to look at him. He held a sports bar in his mouth. Somehow he had unwrapped it.

"Thanks, Lincoln," she smiled, leaned forward, and bit a chunk off.

Thus Lucy Loud ate her dinner as she biked. Her stomach settled and, after a drink of water, she was ready to go until she dropped.

Ten hours later, she did, collapsing in a grassy field and falling asleep in the morning sun. She did not know it, but she had been in Illinois for almost three hours.

The dead travel fast, Bram Stoker once wrote.

But the Chosen travel faster.


	7. Independence Day

_Well she seemed all right by dawn's early light  
Though she looked a little worried and weak_

\- Martina McBride

 _While the storm clouds gather far across the sea,  
Let us swear allegiance to a land that's free,  
Let us all be grateful for a land so fair,  
As we raise our voices in a solemn prayer._

 _God Bless America,  
Land that I love.  
Stand beside her, and guide her  
Thru the night with a light from above.  
From the mountains, to the prairies,  
To the oceans, white with foam  
God bless America, My home sweet home. _

\- Irving Berlin

The morning of July 4 found Lucy Loud halfway through the state of Iowa. She didn't know what day it was, and to be honest, she didn't know _where_ she was. The land had been flat and open for what seemed like weeks, and in her sleep deprived mind, she started wondering just how _long_ she'd been in Iowa. Surely not more than two days, but everything beyond hours seemed like ancient history.

 _When's the last time you slept?_

She didn't know. She thought long and hard before remembering that it was yesterday afternoon. She bedded down in the hayloft of a tumbledown barn overlooking the interstate. How long had she slept? A couple hours, she thought. Enough.

Presently, bathed in the first glow of morning, Lucy was sailing along the gravel breakdown lane of I-80 westbound. The landscape was dull and drab. Fields. Sky. More fields. She'd seen nothing else since...a long time ago.

"I hate Iowa," she said, and Lincoln cawed from his perch on her shoulder. The bird dug its talons into her flesh to keep from flying off, but she didn't mind. Her body was already a patchwork of pain. Her legs hurt, her feet hurt, her back was sore, her skin was burned and blistered, the constant air in her face had chapped her lips. If it weren't for Leni's sunglasses, her eyes would probably be messed up too.

"I know," she replied, "but it's ugly."

The highway continued arrow-straight for several miles before bending southwest and crossing a wide, lazy river. Traffic clogged the way, cars parked at funny angles, some of them flipped over and burned. Bodies lie strewn across the pavement.

"What were they doing?" she asked the bird. "Where were they going?"

She remembered watching the news with Lincoln all that time ago, and seeing chaos in the streets of New York. Granted, the cities were probably madhouses at the end, but out here? Hey, kids, let's pile in the car and drive ten counties over. The flat, ugly landscape there will protect us from Captain Tripps much better than the flat, ugly landscape back home. Dur, dur, dur! Lucy laughed out loud. Lincoln flapped his wings.

"Maybe," Lucy allowed. Her stomach _was_ growling. Before holing up in the hayloft last night (or was it after?), she raided the kitchen of a truck stop diner, taking away more beans and rice, along with a couple of bags of beef jerky from a nearby gas station.

She was approaching the bridge now. The thought of eating while looking at it appealed to her. The thought of jumping in, and feeling the cool water against her hot, cracked flesh was _very_ appealing.

Halfway across the bridge, Lucy jumped off the bike and leaned it against a tractor trailer. She grabbed her bag, climbed up onto the wide concrete parapet, and sat with her legs dangling over the side. Lincoln cawed.

"I'm being careful," she said. "And what if I _do_ fall in?"

Lincoln, now on the parapet with her, stomped one of his little feet. Lucy laughed. "I don't care about water moccasins."

She reached into the bag and brought out a can of Van Camp pork and beans. She popped the top, threw it into the river, and retrieved a spoon.

"You want some?" she asked around a mouthful.

The crow hopped forward. She scooped up a heaping spoonful of beans and held it out. Lincoln took one and nibbled on it. He took another, then another.

"Slow down," Lucy laughed, "you're going to make yourself sick."

She dropped some beans on the concrete, then finished the rest. She tossed the can into the water. Lincoln cawed.

"There's going to be a lot more than cans floating around one day," she said as she pulled out a package of jerky. "Entire cities are going to fall in. Look at New York. You don't know a skyscraper or two's gonna fall in?"

She ripped open the package and selected a large piece. Lincoln cawed excitedly. "I'm getting you some," she said. She took off a long, thin strip, and sat it next to her. Lincoln took it in his beak and swallowed it whole.

"It's good, huh?" she asked, biting off a piece. She didn't normally like beef jerky (Lynn loved it), but it was nice to have meat again. The last time she could remember having meat was before mom got sick. When was that?

She thought. She couldn't remember. Might as well have been in the year 1998.

Lincoln cawed again, signaling that he was ready for more, so Lucy pulled off another piece and gave it to him.

"It's a nice river," she said. Roughly ten yards across, it was flanked by bare, gently sloping hills. Tall grass grew along either bank. She tried to guess how deep it was. Probably not very deep. If she tried to jump, she'd probably wind up breaking her legs. Wouldn't _that_ be nice? Lying on a riverbank with broken legs with no chance of anyone happening along and finding her.

"If I die," Lucy said, turning to Lincoln, "you have my permission to eat me."

Lincoln nodded.

"Just so we're clear."

When she was done, she sighed and climbed off the parapet. She didn't have time for a swim. She still had a lot of ground to cover, and not much time to do it in: The last time she saw him, Flagg said the first survivors would reach Mother Abigail on the evening of July 12. Lucy didn't even know what day it was, though she was certain it couldn't be later than July 7. She'd made great time so far. Supernaturally great. Thanks to Flagg, of course. Still, she needed to hurry.

"Come on, Lincoln," she said as she climbed back onto the bike. Lincoln flew over and landed on her shoulder, digging his claws in.

\- 2 –

 _I shoulda jumped in the river._

Lucy didn't know what time it was. Early afternoon. The sky was bright blue. The sun beat relentlessly down.

Normally the heat didn't bother her because she rode so fast that the wind soothed her, but her determination was really flagging (get it?), and she was lucky if she was making three miles an hour. Her skin was feverish. Her eyes ached. Lincoln cawed.

"I know," she snapped, holding up one hand, "I know."

A few moments went by.

"I'm sorry," she said, "you're right. I need to sleep. But this heat..."

God, it was terrible. It had to be ninety. The air was dry and harsh. Simply breathing was a chore.

She found a comfy looking spot just off the interstate. It was shaded by a tall tree. Lucy parked her bike, climbed the guardrail, and sat down. Lincoln flew into her lap, and she petted him. "I don't like stopping," she said. Well, she _did_ , what she really didn't like was wasting time. Flagg had entrusted her with perhaps the most important thing in the world right now. Every minute she spent lying down, inactive, was another minute that she wasn't doing her part, another minute that she might fail him. And the thought of failing Flagg, of seeing disappointment in his eyes, brought her to the verge of tears. Flagg was...Flagg was the closest thing she had to a family right now (aside from Lincoln, of course). She didn't want to lose him. She didn't want to let him down. She didn't want him to turn his back on her.

Lincoln rubbed his face against her cheek. "I know," Lucy croaked. She closed her eyes and let her mind wander. Soon she was dozing, but the heat kept bringing her awake. The last time she woke, she noticed a bank of dark clouds moving across the sky.

"Make it rain," she said, and soon, the sky was dark, and cool rain fell from the sky. She smiled.

Lincoln stirred in her lap.

"I know I'm sitting under a tree," she said, "but it's okay."

She dropped back off, and slept more deeply this time. When she woke, the sky was clear and bright, but the temperature had dropped considerably. Her clothes were wet, but she didn't mind. They would keep her cool on the road.

"Time to move out," she said, and stood. Lincoln leapt from her lap and landed in a patch of mud.

Back on the road, she made ten miles before she the first sign for Omaha. If she remembered the map correctly, she would pass far to the north of it, crossing the Missouri River on Route 30. Hemingford Home was in the northwest corner of the state, thirty miles from the border with Wyoming. She had two to four days of travel ahead, if Flagg kept helping her along. Once she got there, she had to find the old woman, kill her, and get out before anyone showed up. She thought of the pleasure she would take from strangling the old bitch, of making her pay for what she and her killer "god" had done to her family.

Night found Lucy still far east of the Nebraska line. She was getting drowsy, though, and hating herself, she stopped once more.

"Wake me up in three hours," she told Lincoln. She was lying in the grass.

Lincoln cawed.

"I love you," Lucy said, and slept.

\- 3 –

Randal Flagg, also known as The Dark Man, rolled into Las Vegas, Nevada, on the sunny afternoon of July 4. He was driving a white convertible with the top down. Next to him, his associate, Lloyd Henreid, sat in the passenger seat, gazing out at the stark desert falling away from the highway. Lloyd wore big sunglasses and couldn't look Flagg in the eye, which made The Dark Man laugh. When he came to Lloyd, he was dying in a Phoenix jail, his cheeks sunken and his ribs starting to poke through his dirty white T-shirt.

"You poor man," Flagg said. "They just ran off and left you. How long have you been here?"

"A week," Lloyd said, unsure.

"How'd you manage?"

Lloyd blinked. "Uh...I saved up some food. I-I saw it coming."

Flagg grinned. "Really?" He waved a hand, and Lloyd's mattress jumped off the concrete bunk. A dead rat was revealed. Or half of a dead rat.

"Leftovers?" Flagg asked.

Lloyd looked down in shame.

"What about the guy in the next cell?"

The cells along the block were separated not by walls but by bars. A man lie on the floor in the next cell over, his legs so close that Lloyd could reach out and have a bite anytime he wanted. "One of his legs looks a little...thinner than the other."

"You do what you gotta do," Lloyd croaked. And that was the end of it. Still, in all the time they'd been on the road, Lloyd had never once made eye contact with him.

"You know what today is, Lloyd?" Flagg asked.

"What?" Lloyd asked, glancing over.

"It's the Fourth of July." Flagg pressed a button on the dash, and David Lee Roth came on with "Yankee Rose":

 _Are you ready for the new sensation  
Well here's a shot heard 'round the world  
All you back room boys salute  
When her flag unfurls  
Well guess who's back in circulation  
Now I don't know what you may have heard  
But what I need right now's  
The original good time girl_

Flagg sang along and tapped the steering wheel. "You ever see the video for this, Lloyd?"

Lloyd shook his head. "No. It was before my time."

Flagg chuckled. "Okay, get this: He's up on a stage...dancing around in assless leather chaps."

Lloyd did a double take. "Assless chaps?" He put emphasis on each word.

"Yep," Flagg said, "it was the gayest thing I've ever seen, and, Lloyd, I've seen some gay shit."

Flagg laughed richly. Lloyd nodded and smiled nervously.

"Looks like we're almost there, buddy."

The towering buildings of viva Las Vegas appeared in the distance, rising suddenly from the desert like a mirage. Stalled cars started popping up here and there, and Flagg swerved around them, the convertible's tires squealing on the pavement. Lloyd braced his hands against the dash and the door.

"You afraid I'm gonna wreck us?" Flagg taunted.

Lloyd shook his head. "No."

"You look like you're afraid I'm going to wreck us."

Lloyd shook his head again.

Sudden anger rose in Flagg. "Stop acting like I'm going to wreck!"

Lloyd held up his hands and flopped back against his seat. "Sorry," he said.

Flagg nodded. "That's alright. I forgive you."

The highway dipped between rugged, rock-strewn hills and crossed a dry riverbed. Weathered telephone poles marched along its length.

"First thing I want done is traffic removal," Flagg said. "I want all routes into the city clear ten miles out."

Lloyd produced a pocket sized notebook and jotted that down.

"Then I want guards posted to each highway. I don't want any goddamn body getting in without us knowing. I want names, social security numbers, and home addresses."

Lloyd wrote that down as well. "Isn't that a little much?"

"What?"

"T-The social security numbers."

"No. It's not."

Lloyd shrugged. He knew not to push Flagg.

"I also want every gun store in the city on lockdown. When we have enough manpower, I want it all moved to an armory."

They were in the city proper now. Gas stations, fast food restaurants, and cheap motels lined a wide street. Trash skitted along the pavement, driven by the dry desert heat. Cars were stalled here and there. At an intersection, the traffic light changed from green to yellow, and Flagg slowed down. There were people in Vegas already. Waiting at the MGM Grand Hotel. Only a few.

"The streets may be empty, but laws are laws."

Several blocks later, he turned onto the Strip. Hotels, restaurants, casinos, gaudy neon signs, pawn shops, resorts, and theaters lined the street.

"You ever watch the show Pawn Stars?" Flagg asked.

Lloyd shook his head.

"Where'd you come from?" Flagg asked, exasperated, "under a damn rock?"

"I didn't watch too much TV."

Flagg shrugged. "Anyway, that's where they filmed it." He pointed to a building on their left. "You never know what's going to come through that door, Lloyd."

Lloyd looked at him quizzically, and Flagg laughed.

Flagg turned right, and pulled into the parking lot of the MGM. A group of people stood under the overhang by the door, looking nervous and excited. Flagg killed the engine and got out. "Looks like someone beat us here."

He walked around the front of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk. A tall man with short black came reverently forward. "Mr. Flagg," he said in awe. "I-We dreamed of you."

Flagg shrugged. "I hope it wasn't a wet dream."

The man laughed.

The others came forward. Two men and three women. One of the women, a short brunette, dropped to her knees and kissed his boot. Flagg threw back his head and laughed. "None of that now," he said. "Stand up."

The woman did. Flagg took her hand. "I'm glad could make it." He let go of her and looked at the others. "I know you've all been through hell. It's been a long couple of weeks and, frankly, a pretty _traumatizing_ couple of weeks. Right?"

Each of the assembled nodded.

"No one knows or loves this land better than I. America's...well, America's pretty great. Over the span of twenty days, I watched this country fall apart. I watched people I knew and loved die. I watched everything I held dear come crashing down. I'm pretty messed up myself."

That was a lie. Flagg loved no one. Cared for no one. People were tools to him, to be used and thrown away, like he had thrown away so many over the years. As for America...it was true that he loved in. He felt a certain kinship with the land that he had never felt for anything else. It was a land of lawlessness, and a land of vice. It was a land of sex, and drugs, and murder, and glamor. He felt like he had always been in America, though his memory only stretched back to the beginning of June, when he found himself walking along a wooded road somewhere in Arkansas. He was certain that he had been here from the beginning, an agent in the soil, a spirit in the forest.

That didn't mean he hadn't enjoyed the past three weeks. He had. Immensely.

"There was an old way of doing things, an old order. That order brought us the Superflu. It also brought us WWII, and AIDS, and 9/11, and poverty, and Wall Street bailouts. I'm here to say that as of now, July 4, 2017, that order is dead. We're going to build a new order, an order that works for the people, an order that puts its people _first_. We're going to make Las Vegas great."

They clapped and whistled.

If only they knew what he meant by 'great.'

\- 4 –

Midnight. July 5. Randall Flagg sat alone in his penthouse suite at the MGM Grand, a glass of whiskey forgotten in his hand. His eyes were closed, his lips were slightly parted. Through the eyes of a crow, he watched a young man called Trash lying in a ditch in Illinois, his arm badly burned. Trash was sweating and shuddering. Flagg smiled. Trash was special. Flagg had many, many uses for Trash.

Flagg blinked, and watched as, one state away, Lucy Loud slept. She was special too. Flagg sensed a power in her, a power that she didn't know she had, something he could use. For now, though, she was on a mission.

Flagg lifted and lowered his arms, spilling some of his drink. The crow Lucy called Lincoln did likewise. "It's been three hours, bitch."

Lincoln cawed.

Lucy's eyes fluttered open and she muttered something. Flagg watched as she got up, grabbed her bag, and stumbled to her bike.

There weren't many like her, he thought as he opened his eyes and took a sip. The only other source of psychic power he could feel was the old nigger bitch in Nebraska, and that was debatable. It was "God" working through her. With Lucy Loud, it was different. She might be almost as powerful as he was...in her own way. Flagg walked quickly. One day he'd be in west Texas, the next he'd be in Nashville. Lucy _rode_ quickly. Though she thought he was doing it, he was innocent. She was doing it herself.

This thought excited Flagg, but it scared him too. Psychic power, from what he could remember started (or intensified) at puberty. Lucy was eight (nine on September 1). In three or four years, she might pose a threat. A _real_ threat. But it wouldn't take that long for Flagg to use her. He would drain her, slowly, and take her power for himself. By Thanksgiving, or Christmas at the latest, she would a husk, and Flagg would spit her out.


	8. A Nightmare of Abagail

Lucy Loud crossed into Nebraska at noon on July 5. The sky was vast and cloudless. She stopped and ate her lunch while staring at the lazy Missouri River. Upstream, thin black smoke petered upward. She wondered how many grassfires she would encounter in the prairie. Certainly some. That morning she spotted the shattered body of an airplane lying in a field. If one plane dropped out of the sky during the last days of the plague, others must have too.

That wasn't something she needed to worry about, though. Flagg would take care of her.

"Come on, Lincoln," she said, and got back on the bike.

Things were looking up. She was in Nebraska, and at the rate she was going, she'd be in Hemingford Home by morning.

The moment she left the bridge and officially entered Nebraska, however, her good mood suddenly died, and something like dread crashed into her. She hit the brakes and the bike fishtailed, nearly throwing her off. Lincoln shrieked and beat his wings.

Breathing heavy, she sat astride the bike, her palms sweaty and her heart racing. On her shoulder, Lincoln shuddered.

"I can feel her," Lucy said. She looked at the bird and swallowed. "This isn't going to be easy."

And she was right. Bad luck plagued her the rest of the day. First, she came across a wash-out in the road roughly a half mile across and five miles long. In either direction. It took her three hours of biking through fields to reach a point where she could go around: At one point, she had to crawl under a barbed wire fence, the barbs scratching and slashing her back. Later, as she biked back toward the highway, she hit a gopher hole, and launched over the handlebars, hitting the hard ground headfirst. The bike tumbled wheel over wheel before landing on her back and knocking the wind out of her.

She laid on her stomach for a long time, her back, shoulders, and face hurting. She could taste blood.

Next to her, Lincoln cawed.

"I told you it wasn't going to be easy," she said, pushing herself up. Mother Abigail was throwing everything her god's voodoo magic could muster. Lucy halfway expected a kitchen sink to drop out of the sky and crush her.

The light was getting weak by the time she reached the highway again. Her back and face were scratched, blood oozed from her mouth (she lost two teeth, she realized later), and, to top it all off, her stomach was clutching. She tried to ignore the latter, but after two miles, she couldn't. She jumped off the bike and tried to pull her pants down, but she was too late: A wave of watery diarrhea gushed from her, splattering her pants, her underwear, her shoes, and the pavement.

"Goddamn it!" she growled in frustration. Lincoln, sitting on the bumper of a Prius, watched her.

"She can try all she wants," Lucy said through bared teeth, "but I'm not giving up."

She stripped out of her soiled clothes, wiped, and changed into a pair of purple shorts and a black tanktop. She didn't have shoes to change into, so before she left, she did her best to wipe hers clean. As she worked, she pictured the old crone sitting on her porch, her hands clasped as she cackled.

 _Laugh it up, bitch. You're done._

By the time she got back underway, it was getting dark. She planned to ride through the night, but after only an hour, intense weariness settled over her. More black magic, huh?

She tried to power through, but her legs grew heavy, and her speed slackened. The front tire began to wobble, and she fell, skinning both of her knees on the pavement. Crying silent tears of frustration, she crawled to the breakdown lane and drew her knees to her chest. She was asleep in minutes.

2

She opened her eyes. Above her, the sky was red and hazy. She blinked and sat up. Tall stalks of corn surrounded her. The earth was soft. Dirt.

Where was she?

She remembered falling off the bike and crawling away, then...nothing.

Mother Abagail.

Her heart sputtered. The old witch must have hexed her. Now she was in a sea of corn, lost forever, damned to endlessly search for escape but never to find it. She got to her feet just as a soft, sweet voice rose to her right. It was singing:

" _What a friend we have in Jesus  
All our sins and griefs to bear  
And what a privilege to carry  
Everything to God in prayer."_

Lucy swallowed. She wanted to run, but her feet were rooted in place. The voice stopped, and Lucy heard the strands of an acoustic guitar.

" _Oh, what peace we often forfeit  
Oh, what needless pain we bear  
All because we do not carry  
Everything to God in prayer."_

Against her will, she began walking toward the voice, the cornstalks rustled by her passage.

 _No, please..._

She stepped onto a narrow dirt road and turned. Ahead, a small shack occupied a tiny clearing. In the dusk, she could just make out a figure on the porch.

" _Have we trials and temptations?  
Is there trouble anywhere?  
We should never be discouraged  
Take it to the Lord in prayer."_

Mother Abagail's black magic drew her forward, and she was powerless to free herself. She could only close her eyes and bare her teeth, certain that at any moment she would be vaporized.

The music suddenly stopped. _Here it comes,_ Lucy thought.

"Well, hi there, Lucy," Mother Abagail said, her voice sweet and soft. The terror in her instantly died, replaced by calm. She opened her eyes and gaped. Mother Abagail, a small, bent black woman stood not five feet away, her hands resting on Lincoln's shoulders. Not crow Lincoln, the _real_ Lincoln.

"Hey, Luce," he said happily.

"Lincoln?" Lucy stammered. Then: "Lincoln...get away from her. She's evil."

Mother Abagail laughed. "Oh, child, he's been lying to you."

"It's okay, Lucy," Lincoln said, "I'm happy here."

"That man you been listening to," Mother Abagail said. "He's not your friend. He doesn't care about you, Lucy. He doesn't care about no one but himself."

"That's not true," Lucy said without conviction. The calm was intoxicating, soothing.

 _That's how she gets you,_ Flagg said in her mind. _You let your guard down and she strikes. That isn't Lincoln. Lincoln's dead._

Mother Abagail shook her head sadly. "He's a liar, little girl, and the father of it."

"Your God did this," Lucy said. "Not Flagg."

"Things happened the way God wanted them too," Mother Abagail said. "I don't know why. No one does. But He has a plan for you, Lucy. He has a plan for everyone. Flagg's got plans too. Only Flagg's plans are no good."

"Captain Tripps wasn't no good?"

"It's the way He wants it. I'm sorry you lost your kin. I lost mine too. Grandchildren. Great-grandchildren. Great-great grandchildren. I didn't lose my children because they were already gone. Each and every one. I know it hurts, child. But God loves you, and if you love Him back, you will find Paradise. If you love Flagg...you'll find _hell_."

Lucy started awake in the light of early morning with that final word ringing in her ears. Lincoln was perched on her chest, watching intently.

Lucy shooed him away, sat up, and wept as she remembered the peace she felt, as she remembered Lincoln, smiling and happy.

 _It's a lie,_ she thought. _She's messing with your head._

That only hardened Lucy's resolve. She was going to kill Mother Abagail.

"Come on, Lincoln," she said through her tears. "We gotta go."


	9. Nebraska

Lucy Loud shuffled down the middle of US18, her fists clenched and her teeth bared. Her clothes were tattered and torn, her arms and legs were bruised, she was missing a shoe, and her skin hurt so badly that even the cool kiss of the gentle heartland air made her hiss. She wore her sunglasses, a pair of shorts, and nothing else (save for her single shoe). She took her tanktop off several miles back and wrapped it around her waist. Her shoulders were already starting to burn, but she'd rather that than put the damn thing back on and sweat to death. She may have felt shame over her nakedness even several days ago, but now she simply didn't give a shit.

It was July 9, though she didn't know that. Two days ago (or was it three?) she wrecked her bike, and the front tire popped off and rolled down an embankment. She would have gone after it, but the front axl (or whatever you called the metal part where the tire fit) was bent to hell. Since then, she had been on foot, dragging her increasingly burned and bruised body west, her hatred for Mother Abagail growing with each passing minute. The day before yesterday (or the day before that, who the hell knew anymore? Who cared?), a storm system moved in just after dawn. Thunder rolled across the open prairie, lightning flashed. It started raining and would. not. stop. She spent an hour hunkering in an old service station off the highway, waiting for the rain to cease, but when she realized it wasn't, she left. "Guess I'll just walk in the rain," she said frustratedly.

A mile from the service station, she came to a bottleneck jammed with wrecked vehicles. The last exit was a mile or two back before the service station. Screw that. She'd climb over.

She did. Only at the top of the morass, her foot slipped on slick metal, and she fell to the pavement, banging her elbow on a jagged piece of steel on the way down. Screaming, she smacked the concrete, and the world went black. The next that she knew, she was shambling down the center lane, holding her damaged elbow and screaming into the wind. She knew plenty of curse words, but she had never uttered them until then.

When she was calm, she checked her elbow. The skin was shredded and swollen, but it wasn't broken, thank God.

"I'm coming, you old bitch," Lucy hissed, more angry than she had ever been in her life. "I'm gonna rip your fucking head off!"

Sometime later, she was staggering along when a loud roar filled the day. She turned just as a wave of mud, rocks, and water crashed over the retaining wall, showering her with pebbles and dirt. While the wall held back most of the flood, enough water swept across the road to knock her feet out from under her. She smacked the back of her head, and the deluge pushed her against the far wall.

She'd had it. She curled up and cried.

Lincoln flapped overhead, cawing.

"She's too powerful," she croaked. Those three words made her head ache so badly that she nearly threw up.

She must have drifted off and dreamed, for Lincoln set down on her chest, opened his mouth, and spoke in Flagg's voice.

" _She's not, Lucy. You're more powerful than you know. You can stop this. You can stop_ her."

"No I'm not," Lucy muttered. "Leave me alone. Let me die."

" _Yes, you are. Get up. Make the sun rise."_

Lucy got woozily to her knees and looked into the black, churning heavens. Her head hurt. Thinking was hard.

" _Focus,_ " Flagg said.

Lucy focused so hard her eyes crossed. "Stop raining."

" _Louder."_

"Stop raining!"

" _Give it everything you have!"_

Lucy bared her teeth. Images of her dying family flashed through her eyes. The pain. The grief. She saw herself wrecking her bike, saw the brown wall of sludge. She began to pant. She called up all the anger, hate, rage, hurt, sorrow, and pain she had.

" _Stop fucking raining!"_

Just like that, the clouds parted and a ray of sunshine fell over her. She smiled.

And collapsed.

When she woke, the sun was out, and the day was humid. She got to her hands and knees, and a wave of nausea broke over her. She puked onto the pavement.

"I think I have a concussion," she said.

Lincoln cawed.

She got to her feet and tried not to fall back down. She looked into the sky, squinting against the mid-afternoon sun. In her dream _she_ made the sun come out. But did she?

Of course not. It was Flagg.

Presently, Lucy came to a halt. For the past fifteen miles, the two-lane blacktop had been surrounded by rolling cornfields. She'd been on it since leaving the interstate yesterday morning. At first the occasional town popped up here and there, but since last night, nothing. Just unbroken fucking corn.

The sign ahead was the first manmade thing she'd seen in miles. It was faded and wooden. WELCOME TO HEMINGFORD HOME, HEART OF THE HEARTLAND.

A grim smile crept across Lucy's face. "We got her, Lincoln."

Lincoln cawed and flapped his wings.

"You wanna peck her eyes out? Be my guest."

Lucy started forward again. In the distance, a blue water tower climbed above the corn. Lucy closed her eyes. _Where are you, Mother?_

As if grabbed by a hand, Lucy jerked forward. "Alright, alright. I'm coming."

She followed the force's lead through Hemingford Home proper. It was a tiny town with a hardware store, a diner, a hotel, and a bank all flanking a Main Street shaded by leafy trees. Cars were parked in slanted slots. She saw no signs of looting. No broken windows. No burned out buildings. No trash cans lying in the street. For some reason it reminded her of Royal Woods, and homesickness filled her.

The unseen hand led her down a secondary road. A mile later, she stopped. She was standing at the mouth of a dirt driveway. It bore into the corn and bent out of sight. Lucy's heart instantly started pounding, and her breath came in quick, shallow gasps. There was a mailbox with the name FREEMANTLE on it in white letters. Was that her last name? Lucy reached out and touched it. In her mind, she saw a bent old black lady reading her mail by the road, her weight held up by a wooden cane.

It was her.

Lucy opened her eyes.

Lincoln cawed.

Lucy licked her lips. "I know."

 _Caw_.

She took a deep, shuddery breath. She was here. She was finally here. And while she hated to admit it, she was scared shitless.

 _I'm more powerful than she is. Flagg said so._

That wasn't much comfort. She couldn't let him down, though. She'd make him happy or die trying.

With a deep breath and a small prayer to Flagg, Lucy walked into the corn.

\- 2 –

Abagail Freemantle, long known as "Mother" shuffled onto her front porch and sank into her rocker. His arthritis was acting up. Mainly in her hands. Her hips weren't feeling none good, either. She prided herself on being 108-years-old and still making her own bread, but today, her age won out. There was no bread. There was plenty in the way of canned preserves, though. And peas. And corn.

Sighing, she took a drink of tea and set the glass back on the end table. It trembled in her hands.

Many people in her situation might complain, but not Mother Abagail. Every day alive was a gift from God, and you cherished a gift, no matter if you were right happy with it or not: On even her darkest days, she found time to thank God for life.

"Praise be to You," she muttered, "but sometimes I have to wonder: Why?"

Questioning God was almost blasphemy. She knew that. But she was only human, and humans are a curious lot. Too curious for their own good sometimes. What would happen if we made a gun that shot more than one bullet? What if we split the atom? What if we killed off all the retarded people? Mother Abagail was not immune from questioning His way. At her age she had come to accept most of what He might throw at her. Shoot, she'd seen it all at least twice. But what was happening now, well...she couldn't say she'd seen _that_ before. Closest she ever came was the Spanish Flu in 1919. She was ten-years-old then, and her older brother, George, caught it and died. Thinking about it still hurt almost 100 years later. George was her rock. He was her protector. He was big and strong and kind and good, and he did everything he could to make peace and make one happy.

This, though, this was different. She had a television set _and_ a radio. She knew what happened at the end. She'd known what was coming for at least a week, but it still shocked her. In her dreams, she saw the Horsemen riding across the sky, and the earth opening up. She saw the Devil climbing out. "Lead them when they come," God said, and she said "okay." She took His will and made it her own, no questions asked. But when the TV finally went off the air, and she sat shocked in front of it, she couldn't help but look up at the ceiling and ask, "Why, God? Why this?"

God didn't answer her, because it wasn't her business _why_ He did what He did. It seemed cruel, but the world was not a nice place, and hadn't been for a long time. There was so much hate and division. Brother against brother, son against daughter. Why, she was expecting another Civil War. Then the plague fell among them and...and while she wondered why, she couldn't help but think it was for the best. Every once in a while, things need to reset. Lord knew things needed to reset this time around. Too many atomic bombs, too many dictators and robber barons, too many hateful people chanting for war. The most unfortunate thing about resetting is the actual resetting. In a generation, though, what would be the difference? Man would live on. The earth would heal. The ice caps would grow back and the jungles would overtake the cities. People would think differently. They'd be closer to the land and to God and to each other.

And so it would go. For a hundred years, or maybe a thousand. Then one day, it would all start over again, and God would have to send another plague, and bring another lot through the desert.

Of course, it wasn't always that easy. Staring out into the corn, she thought of the _other_ , the spirit of the old way, the God of the World. His name was Flagg. He embodied everything that was wrong with men. He was greedy, selfish, violent, had no principles or self-control. Oh, he'd charm you to the county fair and back, but it was an act. Just like it was with the President (least every President since Eisenhower...she liked him), and with all the people who claimed to care so much for this cause, or that group. She didn't know if Flagg was the Devil or not, but he might as well be. He knew his ways were going out the door, and it made him mad. She suspected that he knew he'd never prevail against the One Living God, but she knew damn well he planned on doing as much damage on his way out as he could.

Why'd it have to be this way, though? Why couldn't God keep men on the Path instead of letting him veer off? Free will? If man's free will lead to this, he ought not have any!

Mother Abagail chuckled.

In the corn, something moved, and she jerked, her heart freezing in her chest. She leaned forward in her rocker, gripping her cane. "Hello?"

-3-

Lucy watched the old woman from the corn, his hands clenched so tightly that her fingernails dug crescents into the soft padding of her palms. She made no move to approach her, though. Lincoln cawed softly in her ear.

"I know I'm stalling," she said, and turned to face the bird. "I-I'm scared."

She turned back to the shack and drew a heavy breath.

 _She's just an old woman. Nothing more. Her power comes from her god, and he won't help her now._

Sighing, Lucy took a step forward, but stopped, a strange buzzing suddenly filling her skull. Gingerly, she stretched out her arm.

 _Zap!_

"Shit!" she hissed, yanking her hand back and shoving her fingers into her mouth. Before her, electricity shimmered in the still summer air. A force field? Really? What is this, a cartoon?

In the gathering dusk, something moved, freezing Lucy's blood.

"Hello?"

Shit. She knew she was there.

Her knees started to shake. She took a jerky step backward, disappearing among the corn. In the clearing, a board creaked, and Lucy watched as Mother Abagail struggled down the steps, stumbling in the dooryard and nearly falling. She shook her head and looked up, scanning the cornrows. "Who's out there?"

The old woman took a deep breath and started coming forward. Lucy watched with bated breath. She was bent and twisted like a witch, her skin so thin and sallow that it looked like old parchment. The fingers wrapped around the handhold of the cane were long and boney, the nails overgrown. She wore big glasses. Her hair was thin, wispy. "Who is it? Come on out now."

She paused ten feet from the edge of the corn, and Lucy's heart burst. She saw her!

 _Go away!_

Instead of pouncing on her, the old woman simply took a deep breath and looked up and down the first row, a sad expression on her face.

She turned around and made her way back to the porch. Lucy heard a door open, and shut. She was alone in the night.

Shaky, she fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face. She couldn't do it. She was weak. Everyone in Las Vegas was going to die and it was all her fault.

" _Shhh. It's okay, Lucy."_

Lucy looked up. Lincoln was perched on a fat ear of corn, watching her.

" _Come to me, Lucy. Come home."_

Peace came upon her, and her tears dried.

Home.

Yes.

She wanted to go home.

Getting to her feet, she held out her arm, and Lincoln came to her. "Let's go," she cooed.

Meanwhile, in her shack, Mother Abagail sat in her rocker, her old, gnarled hands gripping the edges of the armrest. She felt...strange. In fact, she had no memory of coming inside. She remembered hearing something in the corn, then standing there and...

For the rest of the evening, she wracked her brain. That night, she dreamed, and in that dream she remembered. She was scanning the cornrows when she saw a face. Fear and desperation filled her, but it was not her own. The frightened voice of a child filled her head. _Go away._

And she did. God help her, she obeyed that command as surely as a puppet obeyed the will of its master. She came awake in the darkness, her heart pounding. Someone had been here, a child, a poor, scared, lonely child. And something in her sleep-addled mind told her that that child was going west.

To _him_.

"She don't know no better," Abagail muttered aloud. "He's lying to her."

Before she fell back asleep, she prayed God to touch her spirit.

Fifteen miles west, at that exact moment, Lucy Loud murmured in her sleep. She was standing on a highway. Luan blocked her way, tears streaming down her face. She pointed at Lucy and spoke, but Lucy heard no words. She woke momentarily, her mind foggy with sleep. Luan wasn't pointing at her, but behind her, east.

Was she telling her to go back?

She drifted off once more, and when she woke the next morning, she did not remember the dream.


	10. Flagg Muses by Morning, In Watercolor

In the early morning hours of July 10, Randall Flagg stood on the balcony of his penthouse suite and watched the sun rising over the mountains, its light painting the sky a faint shade of orange. A tow truck passed in the street below, closely followed by a Clark County waste management truck. Inside the truck were almost two hundred and fifty dead bodies his people had cleared from the area immediately surrounding the MGM Grand. Body disposal was one of Flagg's top priories. Can't have a brave new world if the carcasses from the scared old world are still hanging around. The going was slow. There were only twenty-eight people in Las Vegas. Of those number, four were children, one was an invalid, and two were so old a stiff fart could knock them over. Out there, beyond the mountains, a group of seventeen people was presently making its way toward Vegas. Another was two days behind it. That one had fifteen people.

Rome wasn't built in a day, an old friend of his was fond of saying, and neither was Akron, Ohio. Flagg didn't expect to have a decent number of converts until the end of the month, but that was okay. They would work fast and hard, and by the end of August, Vegas would be running at full steam.

One of the reasons Flagg had chosen Vegas was because as of December 2016, a small portion of the city was powered by a mix of solar panels and hydroelectric turbines, including the Hoover Dam. With old fashioned power plants, you had to have someone on the ball 24/7. When the plague came through and killed all the technicians, power outages happened within hours. Solar panels and hydroelectric turbines, however, can run for a while without human intervention. Whereas the rest of the country was dark, lights were still on in parts of Las Vegas.

They were ahead of the game, then. Those stupid assholes in Boulder (once they got there) wouldn't have power for weeks, maybe even months. Flagg grinned.

That grin slowly died as his thoughts turned to the old woman.

And to Lucy Loud.

It wasn't entirely her fault, he told himself. He made a mistake by telling her all that crazy, spooky witch stuff. He wanted her to be angry with just a hint of fear. Turns out she got it backwards: Fear with just a hint of anger. With the power he sensed in her, he often forgot that he was only eight-years-old.

Still, he was sorely disappointed. Mother Abagail still lived, and she would gather the righteous in Boulder. But, hey, it wasn't the end of the world. He'd just bomb the shit out of them.

That reminded him, he had to talk to Lloyd about getting some people up to Indian Springs AFB as soon as possible. They didn't have any pilots yet, but there were three making their way to him, and he wanted that place up and ready by the time they arrived.

By next spring, he hoped to have enough trained pilots to man a dozen jets. They'd flatten Boulder, then the ground troops would move in and mop up. The idea of sending a single jet or two before the first snow flew appealed to him too. Let them chew on _that_ all winter, then, in April or May...

That was far in the future, though. Right now, Boulder stood empty, and Las Vegas wasn't much better.

Another day, Flagg told himself as he went back inside, another day...


	11. Terror in the Rocky Mountains

_Over the mountain, take me across the sky  
Something in my vision, something deep inside  
Where did I wander, where d'ya think I wandered to  
I've seen life's magic astral plane I travel through_

\- Ozzy Osbourne

On the afternoon of July 16, Lucy Loud crossed from Colorado into Utah on US50. Barren brown hills rose up along the westbound lane, and flat hardpan blanketed with thistly sage opened up along the eastbound lane. In the distance, low mountains swam across the horizon. The sky was wide and dusty blue. It was dry. And hot.

She was riding a mountain bike she had taken from a shop in Grand Junction. It was slightly too big for her, but she didn't trust any of the smaller bikes to handle the terrain: She was past the Rockies, but (at the time) still in the foothills, the highways rising and falling, in places twisting around jagged hillocks. She didn't know how she would have gotten through the range if not for the old man.

She met him on the morning of July 11. She was walking down the center of US25, in the extreme southeast corner of Wyoming south of Pine Bluffs, when the drone of an approaching engine rose in the distance behind her. For a moment she didn't know what it was: Her stomach twisted as she pictured Mother Abagail bearing down on her at the head of an armored column. She started to duck off the road, but it was too late: A car appeared over a rise, swerving back and forth across the center line. It blew past her, stopped, then backed up. It was a red muscle car. Lucy didn't know what kind.

The man in the driver seat was tall and gaunt with leathery skin. His hair and beard were white. He wore a tight white T-shirt. Lucy shrank back when he leaned across the passenger seat and spoke to her.

"Hey, little miss, you lost?" He laughed.

On her shoulder, Lincoln cawed.

"I'm going to Las Vegas," she said.

The man's eyes widened. "That so? Just so happens I am too. Want a lift?"

Lucy looked at Lincoln. _What can it hurt?_ She thought. _Flagg's watching out for me._

"Okay."

She reached for the door handle.

"You bringing the bird?"

"Yes."

The old man shrugged. "Alright."

The passenger footwell was piled with trash: Fast food wrappers, nakpins, recipts, crumpled cigarette packages, empty beer cans.

"Sorry about the mess," the old man said, "wasn't expecting company."

Lucy climbed in and closed the door. The air stank of dirty feet and stale cigarette smoke. The old man hit the gas, and the car rocketed down the highway. He reached between his legs and brought a bottle to his lips. The label had a picture of a pirate wearing red.

"How long you been on the road?" he asked after a long, awkward silence.

"I don't know," Lucy said. "I don't even know what day it is anymore."

"July 11," he said.

"That's it?" Lucy was surprised. It seemed like much, much more time had passed since she left Michigan.

"Yup," he said. "Where you coming from?"

"Detroit," she said. It wasn't a lie. Detroit was close enough.

He whistled. "You been alone all this time?"

"I'm not alone. I have Lincoln." She petted the bird. "And Flagg."

"That's company enough, I guess."

From there they rode in silence. Every once in a while, Lucy caught him stealing glances at her. She couldn't tell whether he was afraid of her, intimidated by her, or wanted to molest her.

As it so happened, it was the last one.

It was July 14. Lucy gazed out the window at the massive mountains reaching toward the heavens. They were on a narrow, windy road east of Grand Junction. To their right was a steep rockface, and to their left, a drop into nothing. The old man had been drinking since they got on the road, and even though she had Flagg's protection, she was beginning to worry that he was going to drive them through the guardrail and off the mountain. He drummed his fingers on the wheel and kept looking at her. Over the previous days he'd made of habit of not, because every time he did, Lincoln stared him down. Today, however, he was just drunk enough not to care.

Sometime after noon, they rounded a bend, and not ten feet away, a rush of stalled traffic blocked the way. "Shit!" he cried, and stomped on the brakes. Lucy jerked forward, and Lincoln cawed.

Groaning, the old man threw his head against the headrest. "We have to go all the way back."

"It's not that far," Lucy said. She turned, and he was stare at her, his eyes pink, puffy, and hungry.

"You're a pretty little girl. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"Yes," she said in a cold tone.

"Really pretty."

He reached out and stroked her hair. Lincoln pecked his hand, and he pulled it back with a hiss. "The hell's wrong with that damn bird of yours?"

"He doesn't like it when you touch me. And neither do I."

"Yeah? Well, I don't give a shit _what_ you think."

Moving like quicksilver, he snatched Lincoln off her shoulder. Lincoln cawed. "Give him back!" Lucy screamed.

Grinning, the old man grabbed Lincoln's neck and twisted. Lucy heard the snap of bones, and horror filled her.

"You bastard!" she screamed, and launched herself at him, intending to claw his eyes out. Instead, he grabbed a handful of her hair and threw her back against the passenger door.

"You be nice to me and I'll be nice to you," he panted, unbuckling his belt. Lucy's heart thundered in her chest, her eyes wide with horror. He came across the center console and mounted her. He smelled like armpits and alcohol. She tried to punch him, but he caught her by the wrist. His other hand crept up her leg.

"Just the head," he panted, "that's all. I promise."

Lucy turned her head away and caught sight of Lincoln lying in the driver seat, his eyes wide and his head bent. Rage welled up within her, so hot it threatened to burn her center.

She whipped her head around, and the old man must have seen something in her eyes, for he gasped.

" _Get the fuck off of me!"_

They locked eyes, and for a moment he was frozen. Then, ever so slightly, he began to tremble.

Lucy blinked, and his head exploded. Gore, blood, and bits of brain matter splattered her. She let out a horrified scream. His body pitched over and crashed into the passenger door, knocking it open. Still screaming, Lucy tumbled out and fell to the pavement. For a moment she laid where she was, trying to catch her breath.

Then she remembered Lincoln.

"Lincoln!"

She pushed herself up and went around to the driver side. She ripped open the door, fell to her knees, and scooped the bird up in her hands. His neck flopped brokenly.

"Lincoln," she stammered, "God, Lincoln."

She hung her head and sobbed bitterly. Several times over the next hour she tried to bring him back, but couldn't. At one point, as she stared at him, willing him to live, his wing flapped, but that was it.

She buried him in a shallow grave by the road and marked it with a weirdly shaped rock. If you looked at it from the side and squinted, it kind of looked like a heart.

Numb and covered with blood, she walked down the mountain, her fists clenched. The sky, previously clear, darkened, and cold rain fell.

Presently, she swerved to avoid a Jeep lying on its side like a wounded animal. It was the first vehicle she had seen in nearly an hour. The last was a red Ford Taurus parked in the breakdown lane. She stopped to search it for anything valuable (her sunburn had begun to peel, but she knew she was going to get burned even worse in the desert, so some alo would be nice). It was parked so neatly that she expected it to be abandoned.

It wasn't.

In the back, the bloated body of a little boy, no more than three, was strapped into a car seat. His face was rotting, the skin beginning to slip. His eyes bulged from their sockets, and maggots squirmed in a hole in his cheek. Lucy turned awake and puked onto the asphalt. She tried even now not to think about him, but his face haunted her.

"I wish I never stopped," she said. She looked to her shoulder, but Lincoln wasn't there, and she sighed.

 _Second Lincoln I've watched die._

Biting her bottom lip, she pedaled faster, the wind rushing through her hair. Images of Lincoln the bird and Lincoln the boy went through her mind. She bit harder and pedaled faster. The old man's face appeared, grinning, leering. She bit harder, pedaled faster. She could taste blood now, but she didn't care. She was soaring along the highway, the world rushing past in a blur. Part of her hoped she hit something, flew off, and cracked her head on the pavement. At least she'd be with her family again. Maybe.

Another part of her wanted only to finally be in Vegas. It would never be Royal Woods, but it would be home.

She made almost two hundred miles by sundown, and allowed herself some sleep. She camped off the highway east of Green River. The land sloped away from the road. The soil was sandy. The air was cold. She built a fire and slept as close to it as she could. In her sleep, the old man appeared, his eyes bulging, his teeth clenched. Blood flowed from his nose and ears. Lucy muttered and turned, restless.

"You did this to me," he said, reaching for her.

 _No. It was Flagg._

"You did this to me..."

 _You were going to hurt me._

When she woke, dawn was just beginning to creep across the eastern sky. The fire had burned down to embers, and she was cold. She looked for Lincoln, then sighed when she remembered he was gone.

She sat up and drew her knees to her chest, loneliness crashing over her. Flagg was one state away, she told herself, waiting for her. His eyes were everywhere, his spirit was omnipresent. Still, she might as well have been on Mars.

She missed Lincoln the bird, she missed Lincoln the boy, she missed Lori and Leni and Luna and Luan and Lynn and Lisa and Lola and Lana and Lisa and Lilly and mom and dad, she missed Clyde and Bobby and Ronnie Ann, she missed Royal Woods.

 _You have more power than you know_.

She didn't feel like it. She felt weak. Afraid.

 _The old man..._

That was Flagg. He was protecting her.

Part of her believed that, but another part of her, a more instant part, told her that it _wasn't_ Flagg; it was her.

 _Spiritualism and parapsychology are absurd,_ Lisa's voice rang in her head. Lucy believed her, but deep down, she wondered. After all, didn't she dream of Lilly before she was born? Before she was even conceived? Yes, she suddenly remembered, she did. And didn't she sometimes _know_ things?

 _You have more power than you know._

She stared at the glowing embers, focusing.

Nothing happened.

She called up her anger, her fear, her pain, and, as if kicked by an unseen foot, the coals scattered across the ground. Gasping, Lucy fell back, her eyes wide. She did it. She actually did it.

Closing her eyes, she focused, and a vista of sight and sound opened before her. She saw the house in the corn, saw Mother Abagail standing next to a young man with wavy hair. He wore an eyepatch. A pick-up truck idled in the dooryard, its bed crammed with people.

 _Boulder,_ Lucy thought, _they're going to Boulder._

She saw Vegas. People in orange vests and hardhats carried bags out of buildings and heaped them into the back of garbage trucks. Other people were busy sweeping debris out of the street. Trash, broken glass, other, less nameable refuse.

Then she saw the old man lying next to his muscle car, his head ruined. A buzzard pecked at the exposed flesh of his arm.

Lucy opened her eyes.

She was more powerful than she knew.


	12. Blocked Out

By noon on July 17, 2017, there were close to two hundred people in the city of Las Vegas, with fifty-three more en route. On the fifteenth, a black man named William Washington arrived from Texas. He was a communications sergeant in the United States Air Force, and was stationed at Fort Hood when the plague hit. Flagg cleared out a conference room on the fifth floor of the MGM and had radio equipment installed. Washington was in touch with five groups: The closest had stopped at the Utah-Nevada border for the night, and would be in the city within the hour. The farthest was in Oklahoma.

On July 16, a smattering of people arrived from California. Among them was a beefy man with jowls named Barry Dorgan. He was a detective in the Santa Monica PD, and Flagg made him head of security: Flagg didn't intimately know every single person who streamed into the city, but he knew the most important. Dorgan was among them. A straight-laced, conservative man, Dorgan was as by-the-book as they came. He respected authority and did as he was told. Flagg liked that about him. In Flagg's new society, there was no room for freethinkers. He made that abundantly clear (he hoped) on the afternoon of the 16th, when he gathered his highest ranking underlings in a conference room at the MGM.

"The old way is death," Flagg had said. "Look at the way the world was. Left to his own devices, man will drift into the darkness. He'll kill himself. The Superflu was manmade." No one looked overly surprised. There had been rumors in the last days. The government clamped down so hard, so early, that it was obvious they knew something.

"We're lucky that's _all_ it was. At least it left the buildings still standing. We go back to that, we might not be so lucky next time. This is not a democracy. Democracies lead to what we had."

No one challenged him. Even though they followed him, even though they trusted him, they were afraid. Already rumors had started making the rounds that Flagg controlled the wolves, and the coyotes, and the crows. People spoke in hushed tones about Flagg's uncanny ability to _know_ things. They said his eyes and ears saw everything, and if they saw or heard something they didn't like, he'd come for them. Flagg was happy to encourage these rumors. And, truth be told, he was a bit disappointed that Lloyd hadn't told anyone about the uppity lawyer Flagg drove insane and left in the desert. That was a _real_ scary story. He couldn't be too disappointed, however: Lloyd kept his mouth shut, which was something desirable in a right hand man. Flagg had known the man's heart and mind before he came to him. Lloyd was a hood. He spent his life lying, scamming, and finally killing. In the week he was alone in that cell, slowly starving, he did a lot of soul searching, and realized what a piece of shit he was. Therefore, when he gave Flagg his word that he would stand by his side win or lose, stand or fall, he meant it.

Many of the people who came into Vegas were like Lloyd. In the old world they were nothing. This was their second chance, a fresh start. Others were like Dorgan. They believed, sometimes consciously, sometimes subconsciously, that Las Vegas was the only society that had a chance of flourishing.

And they were right.

Flagg, currently standing on the balcony, closed his eyes and sent his mind across the desert, across the Rockies. Mother Abagail and her merry band of assholes was on its way to Boulder. Miles and miles behind them, a caravan of cars, trucks, Jeeps, and motorcycles crossed Indiana. Even farther back, another group worked its way through Pennsylvania, Flagg opened his eyes and leaned against the railing. He suspected there were others out there, in Russia, or India, or China. There had to be. In fifty or a hundred years, he'd have to deal with them. And he would. It was like a game of Whack-a-Mole: Knock 'em down as they come up.

But first, Boulder. He closed his eyes again, and saw The Trashcan Man (also known as Trash) biking across Nebraska. Flagg smiled. Trash was _very_ special. He was a savant when it came to bombs, explosives, and weapons. Flagg had great work for him in the desert. At Indian Springs.

In his vision, Trash swerved to avoid a broken bicycle lying in the middle of the road. Flagg grinned. Why, that was Lucy Loud's bike. Formerly Lynn Loud's bike. Trash was coming from Indiana, and had been following the same route Lucy took since Illinois.

Next, Flagg turned his eye to Lucy, but all he saw was the old man's head exploding, which perturbed him. He zeroed in, and this time saw a frozen still of her standing in shadows.

This worried Flagg. Though she didn't know it, she was blocking him out, and Flagg didn't like being blocked out.

She must be testing her powers. Flagg shook his head and sighed. He told her she had powers. It was ultimately his fault. But if it hadn't been for that old pedophile, she wouldn't have started exploring them until Flagg himself began teaching her, which he planned to do, because in teaching her, he could manipulate her. He could deceive her. He could program her to allow him to bypass her psychic firewall. But now, he didn't know if he'd be able to.

It also worried Flagg that he didn't know about the old man until Lucy was with him. The pervert blindsided him. Why? Why didn't he know?

He licked his lips. He wasn't sure, but he had an idea. Someone – or some _thing_ , rather – sent him to her.

To unlock her powers before Flagg himself could.

Anger rose in Flagg. He gripped the railing and bared his teeth.

It was sabotage.


	13. Badlands

_Blasted mountains_

 _Burning sand_

 _Nothing grows_

 _In the badlands_

 _Another day_

 _On the highway_

 _Going through the badlands_

\- Smooch

 _It's been a long walk_

 _Through this valley of pain_

 _But I'll be home soon_

 _Out of the rain_

\- Mick Swagger

Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

Lucy Loud smiled. For some reason she couldn't grasp, that phrase struck her as funny.

"You're cracking up," she told herself, her voice a hollow croak. She looked into the bright desert sky. The sun burned with a ferocity she had never known. Was she dead? Was this hell? She looked woozily around. Lumpy brown hills rolled along either side of I-15. The soil was loose and red. The brush growing here and there was dull green.

She was walking along the westbound lane of I-15. Her bike was ten (or was it twenty?) miles back, abandoned in the median. Why was she walking again? Oh. Right. The tire. It shredded. Must have run something over. She tried to remember running something over, but couldn't. Her mind was muddled. The heat lashed her. She dragged the back of her hand across her forehead.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire. She remembered cracking an egg on the sidewalk back in Royal Woods on a hot summer day once. It fried. Literally fried. Lana slurped it up and asked for more.

Lucy uttered a harsh, barking laugh. The whites were full of dirt and rocks, and Lana ate it like it was caviar. _I say, Lucille, might tho fetcheth thee more?_

She wondered if her brain was cooking. It was possible, wasn't it? All shut up in the sultry confines of her skull, no airflow, no A/C. She should crack a hole in her head and let it breath.

 _That's ludicrous. Everyone knows that the cranium comes equipped with an exhaust port. It's remedial._

Thanks, Lisa. Whatever would we do without you?

What was with caviar anyway? she wondered as she walked, dragging her feet along the rough pavement. Fish eggs. It's like pizza and ice cream. Wait. What? No. That was wrong. Sorry. Damn autocorrect. It's like two great things like pizza and ice cream. You don't mix them. Fish. Eggs. Get it?

Lucy wished she had some ice cream. Her lips were so chapped they bled, and her throat was tacky. She had a canteen in her bag, but the water was slimy and piss warm. She'd rather suck sand.

Didn't they say you could suck rocks for water? She thought she heard that somewhere. A movie maybe. Or _Spongebob_. Of course, Spongebob could suck anything and get water. _I'm thirsty, time to drink my socks._

Lucy giggled. The highway went over a slight rise and curved to the south before running steadfast and true into forever.

 _Steadfast and true? Where's that from?_

She cocked her head and tried to think, the brutal rays of the sun falling across her stinging face. Ow. It was a song, right?

 _Something something steadfast and true..._

Had to be something Luan liked. No, Luna. Sorry, guys. Called the wrong kid. Happens in a family this big. Get it?

Mick Swagger, that's it. Something he sang. Lucy secretly liked Mick Swagger. Not like-like, just liked. His voice was nice. He was kind of creepy, though. He was seventy and still strutting around in tight pants and little belly shirts. Really? Your time's done. Tuck it in and grow up.

Who was that other weirdo she liked? The old guy who dressed up like a schoolboy? Little shorts and tie and socks halfway to his nuts. He was English too. Or something. Luna loved her Englishmen. Nothing more rock and roll than a pasty little wimp sucking tea and crumpets. Rock on, bro. That was mean, but it was true. Most of the stuff Luna made her listen to was alright. She couldn't complain. Lucy herself liked the devil stuff. Motley Crue. He's gonna be your Frankenstein. People thought she was a witch and worshipped the devil. That wasn't true. She liked the rebellious aspect. It was all Ronald Reagan and conservatism...then here come a bunch of guys dressed like women and singing about the devil. Cool. Really cool.

Lucy tripped and fell. She would have hit her head had her hands not shot out and broken the fall. The asphalt ripped her hands to shit, though. Oh well. She swallowed. You didn't need hands to cross the desert.

She tried to push herself back up, but the world spun, and she nearly flopped onto her stomach.

 _Alright. Alright. I'll take it easy, okay, mom?_

Slowly, she got back to her feet. Which way was she going? For a long time she couldn't remember. Up the long, gentle grade or down? She spun, confused. Oh, man, you gotta pick soon. Down. It was definitely down. She started on again.

"I don't like the desert anymore," she said and chuckled. Lincoln wasn't on her shoulder. She knew that. But he was somewhere. The other Lincoln was somewhere too. And all the rest.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you," she muttered. "What could I have done?"

 _Nothing, Luce, it's okay._

"Well, thank you, that's nice to hear."

 _No problem._

"How's heaven?"

 _It has its ups and downs._

Lucy chuckled. "Shut up, Luan. You didn't even tell it right."

 _Rock on, dude. Dude._

"Dude."

There's a word she hadn't heard in a while. Is this how people felt about "rad" and "grody"? One minute everyone's talking like a Valley Girl, the next they're wearing lumberjack shirts and listening to Nirvana. She liked Nirvana. She liked My Chemical Romance too. And that one band with the guy with the hair. That's all of them, isn't it? Not hair like his. Wasn't he a Jonas Brother? No. That was the other guy. The cake by the ocean guy. What the hell kind of song was that anyway? Cake. Ocean. Peanut butter and French fries. Pizza and ice cream. Fish. Eggs. Word on the street said it was dirty. Like sex dirty. Lucy didn't know much about sex. It was still a dark mystery to her, though she had the feeling she could figure it out if she actually cared. In the books she read, the heroin was always swept away on a tide of pleasure when the hero took her. Took her. That's what they called it. Was that supposed to be romantic? Sounds more like a crime. He took me, officer. I demand you return me to me.

 _Let's turn up the heat 'til we fry..._

Another one! What's that one called, Luna?

 _It's called "Let's Turn up the Heat Until We Fry."_

"Makes sense."

 _Some like it hot and some sweat when the heat is on._

Lucy checked her forehead. _That there appears to be sweat, young lady._ Lucy licked her fingers. _Uh-uh_. _It's apple juice._

Speaking of apple juice, she had to piss. She veered off the highway and onto the sandy shoulder. She was dazed, wobbly. She didn't know there was a hill until she was falling, hitting the ground and rolling, dirt and sand cascading over her. It wasn't long before she landed in a big, thistly bush. She cried out as thorns jabbed her. At least she wouldn't slide off.

Mad, hysterical laughter bubbled up. She held her stomach and screamed laughter into the sky until tears coursed down her raw cheeks. She pushed herself up and fought to keep from falling over again. She pulled off her shorts and panties, and squatted next to the bush. What came, came hard, and when she looked at it, it formed a little brown puddle. Too brown.

She needed water.

She pulled her shorts and underwear back on and sat heavily in the dust. She pulled the canteen from her bag, unscrewed the lid, and drank deeply, the burning, sludge like liquid making her gag.

God, that's bad. When was the last time she ate? She couldn't remember. She was never hungry anymore. And when she did eat, she had to shit within half an hour. Her stool was loose and watery. The thought of food repulsed her.

She forced down another swallow of water and then climbed the hill. On the blacktop again, she slung the bag over her shoulder and started west. She walked for an hour, trying to keep her mind focused and clear. Strange, disjointed thoughts assailed her. The heat became too great, and she striped out of her shirt, going barechested. Her shoulders had begun to peel from the last sunburn. Now she was going to burn them again. Why didn't she think to stop and get sunscreen somewhere?

 _Woulda been smart, Luce._

Yeah, well, no one ever accused her of being smart. Of being evil, of being a witch, of having her head in the clouds, but not of being smart. Lisa was the smart one. And Lincoln was smart. Anyone else? No? Butler?

No, that wasn't right. It was something else, something like...Mueller, Bueller? She didn't know. It was from one of those stupid teen comedies her dad made her watch with him when she was little. Oh, he loved those. Back to the Future, The Goonies, Stand By Me. Lucy hated them, but she liked spending time with, so she watched them. Oh, the laffs. Hey, Doc, this is heavy and do the truffle shuffle.

Up ahead, Lucy spotted a bus angled across the highway, its front end in the median running between the lanes. As she drew closer, she saw that it had struck a small car head-on. Or maybe the car struck the bus. Either way, a little blue Chevy sat in the breakdown lane, its front end crumpled. Something jutted through the windshield, and Lucy's stomach turned when she realized it was a person.

She pried open the bus's big doors with her fingers (ripping a nail out in the process, which hurt like shit) and searched it. Luckily, the only body onboard was the driver, slumped over the steering wheel like it was his best friend. In the back, she found a mini fridge stocked with soda cans. Coke. Sprite. Diet Coke. They were warm, but she drank one of the Cokes anyway. She took a tiny bag of peanuts from a bin and ate it, forcing herself to chew and swallow.

Being one of the nicer models, the bus had a bathroom. Inside, Lucy stared at her face in the mirror, but didn't recognize it. Her skin was beat red and crossed with scratches and scars. Her hair was matted and dirty, twigs and bits of leaves sticking out at odd angles. Her cheeks were sunken. She'd lost a lot of weight. She lifted her sunglasses, and noticed that they had left a tanline on her face. Not that she cared.

She stuffed a couple of the Cokes and another bag of peanuts into her bag and left the bus, pointedly looking away from the wack-a-mole in the windshield. She felt better. Not by much, but enough to keep going, though the thought of stopping hadn't crossed her mind. She was so close to Vegas she could _feel_ it. Literally. There was something in the atmosphere, an electrical charge. She'd first noticed it when she got close to Salt Lake City. It was low, barely noticeable. In the last day or two, it had become more insistent. Her bones and teeth vibrated. It was pleasant and not pleasant at the same time.

God, it was hot.

 _Fire purifies_. Where had she read that? In a vampire novel, she thought; the noble humans burned the body of the night ghoul because fire purifies and makes things good. She was on her way to a new life, a new destiny. Might as well burn off the last lingering vestiges of her old life so she could walk into town shiny and new. Lucy Loud. The girl with no past. The girl whose life began the moment she crossed the Las Vegas city limits. She liked that. All old things would pass away and she would forget...forget the pain, the terror.

 _You can't forget your family._

No, but she wanted to, because when she thought of them, her heart ached. She hadn't had much chance to dwell on them over the past (month? year? century?). She was too busy doing other things. If she didn't forget them by the time she reached Vegas, she suspected she'd find a whole lot of time to dwell, and it would break her.

God, it's so fucking hot.

 _Make it rain,_ Luan said.

 _Yeah,_ Lincoln concurred. _You have powers._

No. This is part of the deal. Burn it all off. Come through the desert a new girl.

For a time, her mind blanked out and she plodded thoughtlessly along. Sweat ran in rivulets down her back. She took a drink of water, then another. She knew she had to save some or else she'd die.

Soon, the afternoon sun began to sink, and a chill wind sprang up. She crossed her arms over her naked chest and looked around: More red, rock-strewn hills, more dry, thirsty grass. Tall metal powers poles marched across a series of hilltops. She shuddered and put her shirt back on.

It was less than a mile later, as twilight fell upon the desert, that she saw the sign announcing she was entering Arizona. For a moment she was confused, then remembered that I-15 dipped into Arizona before crossing into Nevada.

She planned to walk through the night, but drowsiness soon weighed heavy on her. She left the road and found a nice, flat spot to sit. She hugged herself against the cold. She needed a fire, but she was too tired to make one.

 _Use your mind, sis._ It was Lori this time. _You have powers._

Lucy looked at the ground before her and imagined a fire.

Nothing happened.

She summoned as much emotion as she could and tried again.

To her amazement, a stalk of flame sprouted from the hardpan like a strange flower. It was thin and yellow, the heat it threw off almost overwhelming.

 _I did that_.

Just like she made that old man's head explode, the one who killed Lincoln.

She didn't want to think about that.

The fire danced, and Lucy was giddy with delight. She did that. Her. Not Flagg, not Mother Abagail, not anyone else but Lucy Loud.

 _I'm proud of you,_ mom said.

\- 2 –

Randall Flagg stood on his perch over the city of Las Vegas and stared up at the skeletal face of the full moon. He sent his eye soaring over the desert, but could not find Lucy Loud.

That made him angry. He hadn't been able to get a trace on her in days. She had blocked him so thoroughly that he couldn't even sense her.

She was out there, though, making her way across the desert, slouching toward Las Vegas like Yeats' rough beast.

Something dark and greasy weighed heavy in Flagg's belly. Not for the first time that day, he considered sending someone out to incept her on the highway. One bullet when she was least expecting it, and it would be over. No loss, no gain.

But Flagg was greedy. He wanted her power. He could still mold her. Hope was not lost. Still, it felt uncomfortably close to playing with fire.

\- 3 –

Lucy was up and walking before dawn. She'd decided that today would be her last day on the road. She was sick of it. She'd get to Vegas before the next sunrise even if it killed her.

And kill her it nearly did.

She drank the last of her water at 9:38am. She still had two Coca-Colas in her bag, but she was hesitant to drink them. Too much salt. She broke down at 11:58am and opened one.

It was hotter today than it had been the day before. She stripped out of her shirt before noon, and, at two, said fuck it and took her shorts off too. Wearing only her shoes and underwear, she limped along, her mind wandering. She had funny thoughts again, thoughts that didn't make any sense. She laughed. She talked to people who weren't there. At first, she knew they weren't there, but as time progressed, she forgot. For a time Leni walked with her. She was there in her periphery, but when she turned, she was always gone.

 _Mirage,_ she told herself, _just a mirage_.

But she wasn't sure it was.

"Lucy!"

She jerked around with a small sound of shock. Lincoln was standing in the desert, waving.

"Come here!"

She squinted. "Lincoln?"

"Come on! Follow me!"

He turned and walked away. She started after him, but stopped. She remembered something she'd read in a book of legends about ghosts who lured you into the wilderness and left you to die.

She was so hurt that tears sprang to her eyes. Why would Lincoln do that to her?

"Come on!"

She started back down the highway, ignoring his calls.

She didn't always see or hear the phantoms around her, but she could feel them. At 4:00pm , she crossed into Nevada, a fact she barely recognized. Pine trees grew along the median between lanes, which is what initially drew her attention. That was different. She saw the sign next. It was green with white lettering: NEVADA STATE LINE. Below that: CLARK COUNTY LINE. Up ahead, on the left, a vast truck stop butted against the highway, separated by a cyclone fence. Mac trucks were parked in a wide asphalt lot.

Not too far past the truck stop, the land grew unremittedly arid. Tall rockfaces flanked the highway. At one point she fell and smacked her head on the pavement. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten here. The sun was poisoning her. Wouldn't it be a laff riot if she died just outside the Las Vegas city limits? To come all this way just to fart out within sight of salvation. Get it?

She fell again. Her ankles hurt. She was too close to stop.

So she went on.

The sun set and the temperature plummeted. It was funny, though. She wasn't cold. In fact, her skin was hot. So hot that she didn't put her clothes back on. Was it a good thing? A bad thing? Were her "powers" keeping her warm? Had she soaked up too much cancerous sun? Stayed tuned to find out.

The last few miles were the hardest. She fell down three more times. Her head spun. It was more than heatstroke, she thought. For a while she crawled. Or she thought she did. She was on the verge of giving up when she rounded a bend and saw lights in the distance. Their very presence shocked her, and she stopped. She hadn't seen lights since the power went off.

Yet there they were. She started after them, but stopped, wondering if they were the dreaded foo lights which, like those asshole ghosts, lured you off the straight and narrow.

 _Whatever. I don't care anymore. If they want me that bad they can have me._

Mind made up, she followed them.

Three miles later, buildings appeared on either side of the road. The lights ahead became slowly brighter, slowly closer. Soon, she was standing in front of a familiar sign, a sign she had seen a thousand times on TV. WELCOME TO FABULOUS LAS VEGAS, NEVADA it said in lights. She stared up at it, swaying back and forth like a drunk. She was here. She was actually here.

Past the sign, the Strip was lit by a million different shades of soft, glowing neon. "Wow," she breathed.

It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

She followed the street, looking left and right like a tourist in a dream. Theaters, restaurants, hotels, and casinos lined the street. WAYNE NEWTON: JUNE 23-AUGUST 14 blared a sign trimmed with flashing light bulbs. There, on the left, was a giant black pyramid with a beam of light shooting from its tip. Over there, on the right, was a building with a giant guitar adorning its façade. Lucy's head swam.

At a fork in the road, she paused. A grassy strip led to a bubbling fountain. Her thirst cried out to be slaked. She walked up onto the median, the grass tickling her ankles, and went to it. Falling onto her knees, she dipped her head in and drank until a spike pierced her brain. She threw her head back, wincing, and fell over.

She was here. She was finally here.

Laughing, Lucy Loud fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.


	14. Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada

_**Viva Las Vegas with your neon flashin'  
And your one arm bandits crashin'  
All those hopes down the drain  
Viva Las Vegas turnin' day into nighttime  
Turnin' night into daytime  
If you see it once  
You'll never be the same again**_

 **\- Elvis Presley**

 _ **So spin that wheel, cut that pack  
And roll those loaded dice  
Bring on the dancing girls  
And put the champagne on ice**_

 **\- AC/DC**

Lloyd Henreid was brushing his teeth when the phone rang, startling him. It had been less than a month since the plague passed through, and already he had gotten used to things like telephones not being around. The new line had been installed two days ago, on July 18. It was a rudimentary switchboard system that connected a few key lines, his room at the MGM being one of them. It was primitive, but it worked.

Smiling at himself in the mirror, he spat into the sink. The white foam was tinged red. Lloyd had never been a very clean man. Sure, he showered and wiped thoroughly, but the finer points of hygienic maintenance never really demanded his attention. Brushing, for example. By the time he was 28, most of his teeth were rotten and had to be pulled. Even then, he didn't brush. Since his experience in Phoenix, however, he brushed obsessively, sometimes five or six times a day. Even so, sometimes just as he was drifting off to sleep, the taste of human flesh filled his mouth.

In the three plus weeks since Flagg came to him in the night, a tall, grinning phantom wrapped in shadows, Lloyd had not eaten a single shred of meat, and he doubted he ever would again.

The phone rang again, startling him from his reprieve. He looked at himself once more, then went into the room and picked up the handset just as it started to ring again.

"Hello?"

"Lloyd." It was Sherry Tompkins, one of Las Vegas's two telephone operators. The other was Karen Johanson, who covered the overnight shift.

"Yeah, Sherry, what's up?"

"I have Barry Dorgan on the other line. He says it's important."

No shit. If he was calling it must be. "Sure. Patch him through."

There was a long whine (Lloyd grimaced and held the handset away from his ear) and then a click.

"Lloyd," Barry said. He sounded tinny and faraway.

"What's up?"

There was a moment of silence. In that moment, a million possible catastrophes ran through Lloyd's mind.

Finally, the head of security spoke. "There's a little girl passed out in front of the fountain on Fremont and Chevelle. She's in her underwear. Lloyd...I think she's the one Flagg's been waiting for."

"The Loud girl?"

"Yeah. I'm here now with Deedee. She's trying to wake her up but she isn't having much luck. You better get down here." Deedee Blanchette was Barry's girlfriend, a tacky trailer park Dolly Parton wannabe from Knoxville.

"Alright. I'll be there in a few."

Lloyd hung up the phone.

Flagg had given him strict orders to alert him the moment she was in town, so before he left, he went up to the penthouse and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Lloyd walked in. The place was modern and tastefully appointed with black tile floors, black tiled walls, and gleaming metal fixtures. Flagg was sitting on a leather sofa, a drink in his hand. He was shirtless. He was wearing his boots, Lloyd noted.

"Well, Lloyd," Flagg said, "this is a nice surprise. I was just about to have breakfast, you want some? I got ham, sausage, bacon, steak. No long pork, though."

Lloyd forced a grin. "No, I'm good. Lucy Loud's in town."

Flagg sat up, a strange expression crossing his face. If Lloyd didn't know any better, he would have said it was disquiet. "She is?"

Lloyd nodded. He found it strange that Flagg didn't know, since he knew everything else. "She's passed out at Fremont and Chevelle. Barry's with her."

Flagg sat back and sucked his lower lip. "Alright. Go get her."

Lloyd nodded.

Ten minutes later, Lloyd parked at the curb across from the fountain and got out. Barry stood in the grass, his hands on his ample hips. He looked uncomfortable. When he saw Lloyd coming, a look of relief crossed his face. "Over here."

Lucy Loud was lying on her back, her arms stretched out, reminding Lloyd of Jesus. Deedee, looking extra trashy today in a pair of leopard print pants and a black halter top, was bent next to her, cooing like one would to a baby. Lucy's eyes fluttered, and her lips moved, but no sound issued forth. She was clad only in white panties and a pair of ragged, rundown Rockports. Her face and chest were covered with cuts, scratches, bruises, and lacerations. Her skin was an unhealthy tomato red. Her lips were so chapped they were bleeding.

Lloyd's heart went out to her. It looked like she'd been through hell.

A sound drew Lloyd's attention then. He looked up, and saw a couple of guys in orange vests and hardhats passing slowly by, straining to see. He didn't like the look in their eyes. "What the fuck are _you_ looking at?" he asked.

They saw him, paled, and scurried away. Lloyd watched them go. A number was painted on the back of each one's vest. 10 and 2. He made note.

"Come on, sweetie, wake up," Deedee said. She looked up at Lloyd, worry written on her face. She wore too much lipstick. Too much eyeshadow. He could still see her wrinkles. "She won't wake up."

Lloyd knelt down on the other side. "Lucy? Honey, can you hear me?"

He reached out and touched her cheek, but yanked his hand back. Deedee looked at him strangely. "What?"

"S-She's hot," he stammered. That was a lie. She _was_ hot, but what made him pull his hand back was the electric charge that passed from her to him. It was painless, but surprising. He had felt it once before.

The first (and only) time he shook Randall Flagg's hand.

Pushing that away, he bent over her and tapped her cheek. "Lucy?"

Her eyes fluttered opened. The irises were blue. The whites, however, were a sickly, bloodshot red. She offered a wan smile and tried to speak.

"Barry," Lloyd said, looking over his shoulder, "grab me a bottle of water, would you?"

Barry nodded and rushed away.

When he turned back to Lucy, she was staring at him and trying to speak. "Take it easy, okay, honey? We're gonna get you some water. And a doctor."

Barry returned and handed Lloyd a plastic bottle filled with water. "Hold her head up," Lloyd directed, and Deedee lifted. She made no sign that she felt anything. Maybe he was just crazy.

Lloyd unscrewed the cap and let Lucy drink. He lips and throat worked furiously. When she'd drained half of it, he took it away and put the cap back on. "Call Steve Jessup," he told Barry, "have him meet us at the MGM."

Steve Jessup was Vegas's sole doctor (two more were inbound). He was a medic in the army back in the nineties and was working as a medic when the plague hit.

Barry nodded.

"Meet me there."

Getting to his feet, he scooped Lucy up, being sure to support her head, and carried her to the car. Deedee followed close behind. "Grab the back door, willya?"

Deedee opened the back door.

"Get in."

She did.

When Deedee was ready, he handed Lucy to her. The girl's head flopped into her lap, and her eyes flew open.

"...Lloyd..." she said.

For a moment, Lloyd wasn't sure he heard her right. Then she repeated herself.

"Yeah, honey, that's me." _But how did you know that?_

She licked her lips. "I...I saw you in a vision..."

Lloyd glanced at Deedee. "She's delirious," Deedee said.

"You...you were in a jail cell. Starving."

Lloyd froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

"I'm glad you made it."

For a moment he didn't speak, couldn't speak. "I'm glad you made it too," he finallysaid, and offered her a weak smile.

As he piloted the Lincoln through the empty streets of Las Vegas, Lloyd Henreid thought of Lucy Loud's words. _I saw you in a vision. You were in a jail cell. Starving._ She was right.

 _She's another Flagg_ , he thought, and shivered.

When they reached the hotel, Lloyd parked by the doors and got out. He took Lucy and carried her in the lobby. Deedee trailed, the tips of her heels clicking on the marble floor. He carried her to the second floor and waved the master passkey in front of the first room off the stairwell. He put her in one of the beds and covered her. "Go down to the lobby and wait for Steve. When he gets here, bring him up. Okay?"

Deedee nodded and went away.

Alone with Lucy, Lloyd turned to her. She had lapsed back into unconsciousness, her face soft and angelic despite the cuts and bruises.

 _Who are you, Lucy Loud? And_ what _are you?_

\- 2 –

Fifteen minutes after Lloyd Henreid tucked Lucy Loud into bed, Steve Jessup came through the door. He was a pot-bellied man with a black and white beard and glasses. He reminded Lloyd of a math teacher he had in high school named Mr. Bronson. Mr. Bronson was a drunk.

Lloyd stood aside while Jessup sat on the bed and looked Lucy over. He took her blood pressure, checked her heartbeat, examined her chest and head. "She's pretty banged up," he finally said. "Looks like someone dropped her out of a plane. She's got lacerations on her scalp, her ankles are swollen, her feet are cut up. She probably has mild sunstroke. God knows what else. Has she been unconscious the whole time?"

"No," Lloyd said, "she opened her eyes and talked."

"What did she say?"

"I don't know," Lloyd lied. "It was gibberish."

Jessup nodded. "Figures. I'm going to try and cool her down. After that, I'm going to put an IV drip in to get her hydrated. Give me...half an hour."

Lloyd nodded. "Alright." He started out the door but stopped. "What are her chances?"

Jessup shrugged. "I've seen worse. I won't really know until she's conscious. If she were a 180 pound recruit, I'd say 90 percent. Being she's a little girl...it might be 70."

While Jessup worked on Lucy, Lloyd climbed the stairs to the penthouse and knocked. "Come in," Flagg called.

He was sitting on the sofa still, wringing his hands. When Lloyd entered, he looked up, worry on his face. "How is she?"

"Doc Jessup's with her now," Lloyd said. "She's all chewed up. Says she has a 70 percent chance of living."

Flagg laughed. "She has a lot more than that, Lloyd. She's special."

"I noticed."

Flagg looked at him expectantly.

"She spoke," Lloyd said. "Said she saw me in a vision. Said I was in a jail cell starving."

Flagg grinned. "She's a card, Lloyd. I'm telling you."

Later, after Lloyd had left, Flagg poured himself a drink and kicked his feet up. When Lloyd first brought him the news that Lucy was in town, he was caught off guard. He expected _some_ kind of forewarning. But, you know what, fine. She was in town and he could start working on her once she was healed. It was okay. Everything was okay.

He was Randall Flagg, after all, and Randall Flagg _always_ got what he wanted.

And what he wanted was Lucy Loud.

\- 3 –

A cracked ribbon of blacktop wound through barren, bombblasted hellscape. The sky was the color of blood. Pillars of black, sulfurous smoke poured from glowing pits in the ground.

Hugging herself, Lucy walked down the center of the highway. Sounds issued forth from the darkness, startling her. Hissing. Rattling. A chorus of agonized moans.

Where was she?

The last thing she remembered was making a man's head explode with her powers _(I'm sorry, I'm so sorry)_. After that, only blackness. She knew, vaguely, that something had happened, something bad. Her family was dead and she was alone. Alone, that was, save for the creatures nestling in the wasteland around her. Something slithered close to the road, and she turned with a strangled cry: She glimpsed something disappearing into a crack in the ground, something long and slick with scales.

She faced forward again. The road dipped between low hills littered with human skulls. On the horizon, a tall, black tower rose into the heavens, a bright orange light glowing at its peak. Overhead, crows cawed and wheeled. She watched as one settled on the skeletal branch of a dead tree. It was big and black with beady little eyes and a wickedly curved beak. Her heart thundered in her chest.

"L-Lincoln?"

The crow cawed.

Another appeared next to it, and one next to that one. Soon, there were twelve crows looking down at her. Twelve. The number in a jury. The number, not counting her, in her family.

One of the crows spoke to her, and what it said made her wake with a gasp, her heart slamming. Panic gripped her. She tried to sit up, but was too weak. When she noted her surroundings, her panic intensified.

She didn't know where she was.

The walls were a smooth crème color. A flatscreen TV sat on a black stand directly ahead of her. French doors led into what looked like a living room. Lace curtains covered a window, through which bright afternoon sunshine fell. She looked around, trying and failing to remember how she got here.

"You're awake!"

Lucy started. A tall woman with dirty blonde hair and too much make-up stood in the archway to the living room. She was wearing heels, tight black leggings, and a pink halter top. Lucy blinked. Go away. I have too many ghosts already.

The woman came hesitantly forward, and Lucy's heart raced. "I'm Deedee," she said. She had an accent that Lucy couldn't place. Southern, she thought.

Lucy blinked, but the woman remained. Was she real?

"Where am I?" Lucy croaked. Speaking hurt her throat.

"You at the MGM," Deedee said. "In Las Vegas."

Lucy blinked again. "I..." she trailed off, her throat burning. "In Vegas?"

Deedee smiled and nodded. "Yep. You been here for a couple days now." She froze, her eyes widening. "I gotta get Doc. I'll be right back."

Before Lucy could speak, the woman disappeared into the living room. Alone now, Lucy flopped back onto the bed and closed her eyes. She remembered coming into Vegas now, remembered walking down the Strip and falling into wet grass. The vision was hazy and indistinct, like a dream drempt long, long ago.

It was true. She was in Las Vegas. Her long, arduous journey was over.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

Minutes later, voices drifted into the room. Lucy sat up. Deedee came into the room in front of a beefy man with a beard. He was holding a black bag and wearing sandals, cargo shorts, and a Hawaiian shirt with blue and white floral print. When the man saw her, he stopped.

"She is awake," he said with something like shock.

"I told you," Deedee said. "Didn't I tell you?"

The man came over to the bed and sat down. Lucy tried to not cringe.

"I'm Dr. Steve Jessup," he said, opening the bag and pulling out a stethoscope. "I've been taken care of you the last few days. You probably don't remember. Can I check your heartbeat?"

Lucy licked her lips and nodded.

He held the cold chestpiece against her flushed skin. She winced.

"I know," he said, "these things are always cold. It's like a rule or something."

He moved it around her chest, starting with her heart, then her lungs. Next, he took out a blood pressure cuff, slipped it over her arm, and pumped the bulb. Her arm went numb.

"How long were you on the road, Lucy?" he asked.

Lucy tried to think. "I left on June 28th," she said. She didn't know if that was the date or not, but it felt familiar. "What's today?"

"July 23rd," he said as he removed the cuff. Wow. July 23rd. That meant she was on the road for...twenty-two days? Twenty-three?

"Where did you come from?"

"Michigan. Near Detroit."

He continued to question her as he checked her ears, nose, eyes, and throat. Lucy told him what she could remember, leaving out the parts about Mother Abagail and the old man (something told her not to talk about those). Several times, Jessup made thoughtful (and, she thought, dismissive noises). She could see in his face that he didn't believe her, but what about she didn't know. Throughout, Deedee stood close by, her eyes darting from Lucy to Jessup and back again.

In half an hour, Jessup packed his bag and stood. "You're a very lucky little girl, Lucy. Other than the scrapes and bruises, you sustained no lasting effects. From what you said, it's a miracle you didn't lay down and die in Utah. I suggest you take it easy for the next day or two. There's a group on the way and one of them is a pediatrician. I'll make sure she sees you as soon as she gets in."

Nodding, he left, leaving Lucy alone with Deedee.

"Do you want anything, sweetie?" Deedee asked tenderly. "I can get whatever you want."

"Water," Lucy said.

"I'll go get that right now."

Deedee disappeared. While she waited, Lucy craned to see out the window, but couldn't. With a sigh, she slipped out of bed, and cried out when her feet touched the floor: Her ankles hurt.

Fine. I guess I'll wait.

She got back into bed and was just pulling the covers over herself when Deedee returned. She was carrying a bottle of water in one hand and a paper shopping bag in the other. "I got you some clothes, too," the woman said, sitting the bag on the nightstand. "We had to guess your sizes."

She handed Lucy with bottle. "Here you go, sweetie."

"Thanks," Lucy said, taking the bottle and unscrewing the cap. She drank deeply, the cold, sweet liquid filling her stomach and making her head hurt. When she was done, Deedee took the empty and threw it into a trashcan.

"How do you feel?"

Lucy nodded. "Alright. Tired."

"I'll bet. Did you really ride a bike _all the way_ from Michigan?"

"I walked some."

"You poor thing. You must have gone through hell."

"A little."

"Are you hungry? I can run down to the cafeteria and get you something."

Lucy's stomach was still full of water, and the thought of food passing through her mouth made her sick. "Not right now. Thank you."

"Alright. You get some rest, okay? I'll be in the other room if you need me."

"Thank you."

She laid back against the pillow and closed her eyes. Her mind raced with thoughts, and she didn't think she would sleep, but soon, she was snoring.

\- 4 –

It was late afternoon when Lloyd Henreid went to see Lucy Loud. Barry wanted to come with him, but Lloyd told him to hang tight. He didn't want to scare or intimidate her.

When he entered the room, Lucy was sitting against the headboard, her eyes closed. A bedside lamp was turned on, bathing her face in golden glow. She must have sensed his presence, for she opened his eyes and looked at him. Though he couldn't say why, an icepick of fear cracked him in the stomach.

"Hi, honey," Lloyd stuttered. "Do you remember me?"

Lucy stared at him for a long time before nodding. "Lloyd," she rasped.

He smiled. "That's me. How are you feeling?"

"Okay. My ankles hurt like hell, though."

"From what Doc Jessup says, your legs should have fallen off five hundred miles ago. He doesn't believe you. He thinks you're delirious."

Her brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Well," Lloyd said, coming forward and sitting on the foot of the bed, "he doesn't think it's possible you rode a bike, and walked, all the way from Michigan in such a short amount of time. He also doesn't think you really walked all the way from Utah. He says even a grown man would have fallen down and died before he hit Arizona."

Lucy shrugged. "Whatever."

"I believe you, though. Flagg says you're special and Flagg's never wrong."

At the mention of Flagg's name, a light rose in the little girl's eyes.

"Is he here?"

"He is. He wants to wait until you're better before meeting you. He says he has a lot he wants to talk to you about and he doesn't want to overwhelm you."

"I'm okay," the girl said. "Really."

Lloyd couldn't help grin. Eager beaver. "I'll talk to him tonight. Until then, I want you to rest up."

He went to stand, but she stopped him.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing. For a moment he didn't know what she meant, then his hand crept to the stone he wore around his neck. It was black with a red flaw. Flagg gave it to him the night he liberated him from the Phoenix County Jail.

"It's a gift from Flagg," he said. He took it off and handed it to her. She held it in her hands and examined it.

"Something tells me he's going to give you one, too. He only gives them to his favorites." Lloyd winked.

He took the stone back and slipped it over his neck. "Get some rest. It's a madhouse around here."

In the hall, Barry was leaning against a door. When Lloyd came out, he stood. "How is she?"

"She's good," Lloyd said. "She can hold a coherent conversation, at least."

They were walking side-by-side down the hall now. "She's lucky, then. What does Flagg what with her anyway?"

"I don't know," Lloyd said. "But...she's special."

 _In a scary way_ , he added to himself.


	15. Meeting Flagg

**I get the feeling that interest in this story is starting to flag (get it?). I'm trying not to be too verbose, but we're at a pretty important part. Flagg is going to teach Lucy how to use her powers (to his own gain, of course), but coming up, he may just find that he can't control her, which scares him...**

It was two days before Lucy could get out of bed without her ankles threatening to break. She spent the 24th sitting impatiently up in bed, staring at the walls and trying not to think of her family. Deedee stayed with her the entire time.

"You ever play gin rummy?"

"No," Lucy replied. "What is it?"

"It's a card game. Here. I'll show you." Deedee fetched a pack of cards and sat on the bed. She dealt ten cards to Lucy, then ten cards to herself. "The object is to get to a certain number before the other player. What number do you want, sugar?"

Lucy thought. "99."

Deedee did her best to teach her, but her mind kept drifting. She wanted to get up and walk around. She wanted to see the city.

She wanted to see Flagg.

At dinnertime, Deedee got her a tray from the cafeteria. Fried fish, corn, mashed potatoes, and a brownie; though she wasn't particularly hungry, Lucy dug in, her appetite awakening. She devoured the potatoes, corn, and brownie first, saving the fish for last. She finished the fillet in three bites.

"It's been a long time since I've had real food," she explained.

"I know what you mean. I ate potato chips and peanuts for a week and a half," Deedee laughed. "I'm not a good cook even with a stove, can you imagine me _without_ one? The first meal I had here was a hamburger. I ate it so fast I choked!"

Lucy giggled.

"I don't like fish, do you want mine?"

"Sure."

Deedee stabbed her piece with a fork and transferred it to Lucy's tray. She ate this one slower, relishing the flavor, and the texture.

"You know what?" Deedee said, her face brightening. "I have an idea."

"What?" Lucy asked.

"I'll be right back."

She got up and went into the living room. Lucy craned to see, and saw her pick up the phone. She spoke into it for nearly a minute then hung up. Ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door. A balding man with a paunch came into the room carrying a black and green box.

"This is Whitney," Deedee said. "He's the cook."

Whitney nodded.

"I like your fish," Lucy said.

"Thank you, sweetie," Whitney said, setting the box on the edge of the bed. "I can do better, but when you got a bunch of people to feed, you can't get too fancy."

"What's in the box?" she asked.

"Well, I'll show you."

He opened it and pulled out a game console with a green X on the front.

"When we were cleaning out the rooms that people di...were using when it happened," Deedee said, "I found this. It's been sitting in the janitor's closet for a week now. I figured we could play a video game. I'm not good, but it might be fun."

"I like video games myself," Whitney said, bending down by the TV. "The older ones, though. Mario and Sonic. These new games are just too damn complicated. Excuse my language."

He hooked the game up, softly muttering to himself (and cursing a few more times to boot), and stood. He grabbed a remote off the stand, clicked it, and a loading screen popped up. GRAND THEFT AUTO V it said.

Whitney paused. "I don't know if this game is age appropriate," he said. "There are a couple others downstairs..."

"Oh, hush," Deedee said. "It's a video game. How bad can it be?"

Lucy smiled. She'd played Grand Theft Auto Five for ten minutes at a friend's house once. In that time she blew up a car, shot six people, beat a police officer to death with a club, and set five people on fire. It was the most fun she'd ever had.

"Alright," Whitney sighed. He reached into the box and pulled out two controllers, which he connected to the console. Using one of the controllers, he set the game up for two players. When he was done, he smiled at Lucy. "You girls have fun."

"Thank you," Lucy said.

"Thanks, Whit," Deedee echoed, pecking him on the cheek. "You're the best."

"Just remember that tomorrow when you come to the cafeteria and get served Salisbury steak."

Deedee gagged. "You're still the best."

After Whitney left, Deedee sat on the bed and picked up one of the controllers. On the screen, two characters stood side-by-side in an alley.

"Have you ever played this before? Because I'm totally lost."

"Once. I'll show you what to do."

Ten minutes later, Lucy's character was peppering a street corner with bullets. NPCs ran and ducked for cover.

"Oh, my God," Deedee said, shocked.

Several black-and-white police cruisers pulled up. Lucy turned on them, selected a rocket launcher, and fired. The rocket slammed into one of the cars, and fire filled the screen.

"Oh, my God! Luce!" Deedee was laughing.

"Watch this," Lucy said. She walked into the street and fired at a city bus sitting tranquilly at a redlight as if nothing were the matter. The rocket struck it, and it went up, jumping several feet off the ground before toppling over, flames shooting out of its windows.

"I think Whitney was right."

After Lucy's character died, she said, "I have an idea. Let's play tag."

"Tag" in this case involved Lucy, in one car, chasing Deedee in another. The object was to crash into the opposing player's car, thus making them "it."

Deedee laughed as she piloted her car down a busy freeway with Lucy in hot pursuit. A car pulled out in front of her, and she hit it. "No!"

Lucy slammed into her back fender; to her surprise, her avatar went through the windshield and crashed to the pavement, where the big wheels of a Mac truck crushed it to death. Deedee laughed until she cried, and Lucy couldn't help but laugh too.

"This game is crazy. What's it called?"

"Grand Theft Auto 5."

"Wow," she shook her head. "It's fun, though."

They played for another hour before a knock came at the door. Lucy paused the game while Deedee went to answer it. A fat man with jowls and wearing a suit and tie came into the room.

"Glad to see you're feeling better," he said.

"Uh, thanks," Lucy said. She had no clue who he was.

"Lucy, this is Barry," Deedee said, putting her arms over his shoulders. "He's the one who found you."

"It wasn't me," Barry said. "It was Fred Meijer. He's the one who saw her and called it in. He thought you were dead and he said 'Barry, I can't deal with anymore dead bodies, so I'm staying my ass right here.'" Barry laughed.

"Barry's the head of security," Deedee said, and kissed his cheek. "He's like the sheriff."

"It's nice to meet you," Lucy said. She offered her hand, and he took it.

"How're you doing?"

"Okay. Going stir crazy. Doc Jessup says I should stay in bed but I want to get up."

Barry chuckled. "From the way you looked when I found you, you've had enough walking around for a while. Did he saw when you can get up?"

"No. But when I stand up my ankles hurt."

Barry shrugged. "They were pretty swollen, if I remember right. You doing alright otherwise?"

Lucy nodded. "Yeah."

"We were just playing a video game," Deedee said.

"A video game? Those things'll rot your mind." He winked at Lucy. "I gotta get back out there. Glad you're doing good."

After he left, Deedee came back and sat down. They played for another hour before Lucy begged off: Her eyes were drooping and her mind was filling with fog.

Deedee tucked her in and sat next to her on the edge of the bed. "You sleep well, okay, honey?"

"I'll try. You too."

Deedee bent down and kissed Lucy's forehead, shocking her. "Goodnight."

She turned out the light, and Lucy couldn't help but drift peacefully to sleep.

The next morning, Deedee brought her breakfast. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. "I want to try to get out of bed today," she said as they ate.

"You sure you're up for it?"

Lucy nodded. She thought she was. She'd _better_ be. Sitting on her ass was starting to get old.

When breakfast was done, Lucy swung her legs out from under the covers. Deedee held her arm while she stood. Her ankles hurt, and she winced, but she was able to stand and walk on her own.

"I'm so proud of you," Deedee said as Lucy limped heavily to the bathroom and back. "You can walk."

"If you call that walking." Lucy sighed.

Two hours later, Doc Jessup came by, and watched as Lucy went to the bathroom and back. He noticed that she was favoring her right foot. "How does the left feel?"

"Kind of numb," Lucy said. "But if I step too hard it hurts."

Doc nodded. "Alright. If you absolutely _have_ to be up and about, I want you to use a cane."

Lucy started to protest, but stopped. Whatever. She just wanted out of this fucking bed. "I'll have someone bring you one."

An hour after that, Whitney dropped a cane off, and Deedee brought it to her. It was smooth and wooden, and the grip felt good in her hand.

Feeling empowered, she took a shower. Deedee sat on the closed toilet lid "in case you need me." As Lucy let the warm water sluice over her achy body, Deedee prattled on about "giving you a makeover." Deedee, Lucy learned, owned a beauty salon in Knoxville, Tennessee, when the plague hit. She loved cosmetology. Lucy started to tell her that she didn't want a makeover, but stopped. Why not? Everything was different now. The world. The people. Her. Why not _look_ different too? She remembered a delirious thought she had in the wilderness, something about coming through the desert changed. Well, the time for change was here.

"Sure," she said over the hiss of the shower. "We can try something."

When she was done, Deedee helped her out, and she went through the bag of clothes, selecting a pair of blue jeans and a black T-shirt. Back in her room, she sat in the bedside chair and allowed Deedee to brush her hair. "Your hair's not naturally black, is it?"

"No. It's blonde."

Deedee pulled back and studie Lucy for a long time, making her uncomfortable. "You'd look cute as a blonde."

"Cute isn't really my thing."

"Why not?"

Lucy shrugged. "It just isn't."

"Well, I think you'd look adorable," she said and went back to brushing Lucy's hair.

Before bed, Lloyd stopped by. He came into the room and flashed a tight grin. "How you feeling, Luce?"

"Better," Lucy said.

"I hear you're walking."

"Yeah." She nodded to her cane, which was propped between the bed and nightstand. "I have to use that, though."

"You probably will for a while," he said. "Listen, Flagg wants to see you tomorrow."

Lucy's heart skipped a beat.

"You think you'll be up for it?"

"Yes," she said.

As she struggled to sleep later, however, she wondered. Her stomach rolled. She'd never been so nervous in her life.

She slept very little that night, and what sleep she did get was thin and haunted by nightmares she wouldn't remember.

In the morning, she would recall the dream that woke her that first night in Vegas. The crow speaking. What it said made her jerk awake. What did it say, and why did it feel so important that she remember?

\- 2 –

Lucy's stomach was in knots. She lingered in the shower, relishing the hot water. The pressure was weak, but after going nearly a month without, it was blissful.

Would he be mad at her? After all, he trusted her with a vitally important task, and she blew it. Because of her, Mother Abagail still posed a danger. The thought of finally facing Flagg and seeing disappointment in his eyes scared her.

When the water started getting cold, she shut the shower off and got out. She dried off and dressed in a sleeveless black dress. Her arms were ugly, the skin red and beginning to peel. She rummaged in the bag, but didn't find anything to go with the dress. Oh well.

Deedee insisted on brushing her hair, and Lucy let her. She didn't mind. In fact, she kind of liked it.

"Barry says Flagg's been dying to see you," Deedee said, running the brush through Lucy's hair. "Says he's never seen him this excited."

"That's good."

"I'll say. Are you excited?"

"Yes. Nervous too, though."

"I was nervous when I first met him too." Deedee stopped and tilted Lucy's head. "But he's a really nice guy. Cute too." She laughed. "He kind of reminds me of Travis Tritt. You know who that is?"

"No."

"He was before your time. He was my favorite singer when I was a little girl. I saw him in Nashville in '95. Lord, he was dreamy."

Lucy couldn't help but smile.

"He treats people right. Like they matter, you know?"

 _I just hope he isn't mad._

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came at the door. Lloyd Henreid, in a black shirt (the sleeves cuffed) and a black pair of pants, stepped into the room. When he saw Lucy, he nodded. "You ready, Ms. Loud?"

Lucy swallowed and nodded. She was as ready as she would ever be.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Deedee asked.

Lucy started to say yes, she did, but stopped and shook her head. She liked Deedee. Deedee was familiar. But she knew that she had to do this on her own.

"I'll have her back soon as I can," Lloyd said.

Lucy took her cane and limped out into the hall after Lloyd. He walked slowly to keep pace with her. Lucy looked over her shoulder: Deedee was standing at the door. She flashed a smile and waved.

"Flagg's really been looking forward to seeing you," Lloyd said as he led her to the elevators. "He wasn't even this excited about Trash."

"Trash?" Lucy asked.

"He's new," Lloyd explained. He hit the button and the elevator doors slid open. "He got into town the day before yesterday. He's a little strange but he knows his stuff."

A vision struck Lucy, nearly knocking her back. Lloyd's face paled and he grabbed her arm.

"You okay, honey?" he asked worriedly.

"Yeah, I just...got dizzy," Lucy lied.

In her mind, she had seen something she couldn't explain. It was green and cylindrical with a yellow stripe. It ended in a point. It looked like...like a missile.

In the elevator, Lucy tried to make sense of the vision. Nothing like that had ever happened to her. She hoped nothing was wrong with her brain. Doc Jessup said it was a miracle she came through the desert with no permanent damage. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she _did_ have permanent damage.

Sensing the darkening of her mood, Lloyd tried to make small talk. "Are you nervous?"

"A little," Lucy said.

"Flagg's a stand-up guy. You got nothing to worry about. He doesn't meet with everyone. You should be honored." He mussed her hair.

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened on a long hall with only one door at the end. Lloyd stepped out, and Lucy hobbled behind, her nerves rising. She suddenly wasn't sure she could go through with it. She considered begging off and telling Lloyd she was sick, but she knew that that would only be delaying the inevitable. She had to face Flagg sooner or later. Might as well get it out of the way.

At the door, Lloyd knocked.

"Come in!" came a smooth, smoky voice. Lloyd opened the door and poked his head in. Lucy's grip tightened on the cane.

"Lucy's here to see you," Lloyd said, and looked back at her.

"Great! Bring her in."

Lloyd stepped aside and waved her in. "Come on, honey," he said with genuine concern, "he won't bite."

Lucy took a deep breath and walked in.

The first thing she noticed was the temperature. In the hall, it was warm. Almost unpleasantly so. In Flagg's suite, however, it was cold, so cold that goosebumps ran up her bare arms.

The second was the atmosphere. She had read many books in which the "atmosphere" was described as "heavy." She thought it was a poetic turn of phrase, but standing there, she discovered that it was quite real: The very air seemed to weigh heavy on her shoulders.

Finally, she caught sight of Flagg, and froze, a mixture of fear and joy panging through her. A tall, muscular man with long brown hair and dark eyes, he was sitting on a leather sofa, hunched forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. He looked exactly as he had in her dreams, right down to the denim jacket and the pins. He grinned, and her stomach rolled. It was beautiful and terrible at the same time.

"Lucy Loud," he said slowly, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you face-to-face."

Lucy swallowed. "Likewise."

"Sit down," he said, motioning to an armchair to his left.

Lucy hobbled over to the chair and sat. Flagg grinned at her. It was surreal. She had dreamed of this man for nearly a month, and here he sat, so close she could reach out and touch him.

Seeming to read her mind, he shook his head. "Where _are_ my manners." He stretched out his hand. "Hi, I'm Randall Flagg."

Lucy barely suppressed a smile. "Lucy Loud."

She took his hand, and something strange happened. A jolt of electricity shot up her arm and into her shoulder. She grimaced. Flagg's eyes clouded, and he pulled his hand back. He looked down at his palm, and then up at Lucy. Lucy looked at her own palm: A tiny red welt stared back at her.

"There's already electricity between us," Flagg said to Lloyd, and laughed. "I think we're going to get along just fine."

"That's good," Lloyd said. "Lucy's a sweet girl."

"You like her then?"

"Yeah. I like kids."

Flagg nodded. "How 'bout you...go make some of your own and let us catch up, okay?"

Lucy sensed hesitation on Lloyd's part. She looked over her shoulder. He was standing with his hands behind his back.

"Go on, mother hen," Flagg said, flapping his hands, "shoo."

Lloyd's eyes locked with her. He nodded and scurried away, closing the door behind him, leaving her alone with Randall Flagg. She felt like a child on the deep end of the pool without her arm floats.

"You thirsty, honey?" Flagg asked. "I got soda, juice, tea, milk."

"Nothing, thank you."

"I think _I_ need a rum and Coke," he said. He got up and went over to a bar. Lucy watched him as he made his drink. His legs were long and slim, _too_ slim. He moved strangely too. Lucy couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it was unlike anything she had ever seen before. He was too perfect, too graceful. It reminded her of something she read once about drunks overcompensating by driving _too_ well, pronouncing _each word_ , and walking _too_ straight.

When he was done, he came back to the sofa and sat down with a sigh. "I'd offer you some of this, but that's called contributing to the delinquency of a minor. I could go to jail." He laughed and took a sip of his drink. Lucy watched him. His hands were smooth and unlined. His nails were perfectly square, and shiny.

"I-I'm sorry," Lucy finally said, "about Mother – "

Flagg waved his hand. "It wasn't your fault. I should have known she'd pull some shit like that. I was hoping she'd be too preoccupied to see you coming. It's my fault for underestimating her."

"What are we going to do about her?"

Flagg sat his drink on the coffee table and sat back. "Well," he said, "I'm hoping she'll get so busy over in Boulder that she won't worry about us. That's a longshot, I know, but it's been less than a month since the world ended. I'd rather not jump directly into a war."

"But what if that's what she wants?"

"We'll be ready. There's an Air Force base north of town. Indian Springs. Just in case, I'm having the planes loaded and gassed and treated _real_ nice so we can defend ourselves. If we have to."

"Do you have pilots?"

Flagg nodded. "Three so far. As soon as possible, I'll have them start training others. If I know the people over the Rockies, and I do, it'll take them a while to get their act together. They'll rely too much on the old woman's powers, but she only has so much. Hell, even _I_ only have so much. Hard work will save the day, Lucy, not magic."

He picked up his drink and took a long sip. "How are you settling in?"

"Alright."

"I hear Deedee's taken a liking to you. She asked Barry if you could live with them. He said he doesn't mind. It's up to you, of course."

Lucy opened her mouth, but closed it again. "I-I'd rather not. I mean, I like them, but...I don't know."

Flagg nodded understandingly. "I get it. You just lost your family, and you're still getting over it."

"Yeah," Lucy said, her heart growing heavy.

"Look," Flagg said, leaning closer. "I know I can't replace what you lost. I know Las Vegas can't replace what you lost. You and your family...you had something special. You were close, right?"

Lucy nodded. "Really close."

"You're lucky," Flagg said. "A lot of people here didn't have that. I'm not saying that to take away from what you're feeling. I mean it. You were really lucky. You had a big family that loved you. A lot of people here would have killed – literally killed – for that."

Tears were welling in Lucy's eyes. She looked at her lap and blinked them back.

"But that blessing was also a curse. Those people that didn't have families? They've already moved on. It was easy. For you and others like you...it's harder."

Lucy began to cry then.

"Oh, Luce," Flagg said. He got up and knelt beside her. She didn't see, but he reached out his hand to touch her back, but thought better of it. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up."

"It's okay," Lucy sniffed. She rapidly blinked and willed herself to stop. "I just miss them."

"I know you do," Flagg said softly.

"Did you have a family?"

"A long time ago." Truth be told, he didn't know if he had a family or not. He had to come from somewhere, right? Therefore he did. "It never stops hurting, Lucy. Over time, the pain may dull, but it'll always be there, deep inside. We just have to...carry on. Your family...they wouldn't want you sad. They'd want you to be happy."

Flagg reached out his palm. "Make a fist."

Lucy did, and Flagg wrapped his hand around it. There was another electrical exchange. Lucy winced as her bones vibrated. He let her go and said, "Open your hand."

She did, and in her palm was a small black stone with a red flaw. It was affixed to a length of black rope. It was just like the one Lloyd wore.

"That means you're part of a new family," Flagg said. "It's...I guess you could say it's my mark. It means I love and trust you. And that I have great plans for you."

Lucy was honestly touched. "Thank you," she said, and slipped it over her neck. The weight felt good against her chest.

Flagg smiled up at her. "Speaking of plans, I have something I want to discuss with you."

"What?"

Flagg got to his feet and walked over to the bar to make himself another drink. After a long, pregnant pause, he said, "You have powers, Lucy. I think by now you understand that."

"I-I guess," Lucy said. To be honest, she hadn't thought much about her powers. She remembered making the old man's head explode, and making fire in the desert (did that really happen, or was it a hallucination?), but between the journey west and then finally being here and recovering, she didn't have much time _to_ think of them.

"Everyone has powers, I think," Flagg said, coming to the sofa and sitting. "Small amounts. When we evolved, those powers sort of...got locked away in our brain. Sometimes they peek out. See, it's all about energy. Everything around us is made up of energy. Everything...produces energy. Think of it this way: If that rum bottle were to fall off the bar and smash against the floor, it would make a noise, right? Energy is the same way. Only we can process soundwaves no problem (unless we're def). With energy waves...it's different. Some minds are better than others."

Lucy processed what he was telling her. It made sense, kind of.

"There are people like me, Lucy, and like you, who can not only "read" energy, but also manipulate it. Your powers are developing, but they're still raw. I want to teach you how to use them."

Lucy blinked. "Really?"

Flagg nodded. "I do. See, I have a vision, Lucy. I have a vision of a society where we can all use those naturally occurring talents. Just imagine! I don't know if it's possible, but I think you and I, together...well, I think we can make that happen. What do you say?"

"Yes," Lucy blurted happily.

Flagg nodded. "Good girl."

Later, when Lloyd returned to take her back to her room, she was walking on clouds. She had a purpose, a mission. She would make the world a better place. Her. Lucy Loud from Royal Woods, Michigan. She wished her family could see her now. They'd be so proud of her.

After she was gone, Flagg sat alone, his mind working. He looked at the small red welt on his palm, and the five similar welts on his fingertips he sustained when he closed his hand around Lucy's fist. For the first time in his life (that he could remember), he was utterly baffled. He sensed her power, and while it was great, it was not great enough to burn someone like that. Lloyd said that he felt a "charge" when he touched her the first time. He said he got used to it, though. Flagg looked at his hand again. Why the hell did it burn _him_ , then? Unless he was right when he said there was "electricity" between them: Maybe their powers, on touching, created a spark.

He didn't know. And that bothered him. She was puddy in his hands, though. That was good. He program her powers to his own purposes.

He smiled. That alone was a reason to celebrate.

He got up and made himself another drink.


	16. Lucy Meets The Trashcan Man

When Lucy got back, Deedee was waiting. "How'd it go?" she asked.

Lucy smiled. "Good," she chirped.

"See? I told you so. You got yourself all worked up for nothing." She stopped. "Oh, he gave you one of those stone things!"

"Yeah," Lucy said and held it up.

"You know what that means."

"What?" Lucy asked.

"You're a VIP."

That made Lucy feel good. She went into her room and sat down. Her mind was buzzing from her meeting with Flagg. A world of possibilities opened before her, making her head swim.

"Deedee?"

"Yeah, hun?" Deedee appeared in the doorway.

"You think we can take a walk on the Strip?"

Lucy wanted to see her new home, the place she would help build into a great society.

"Sure, if you feel up to it. We can have lunch in the cafeteria too, if you want."

"That sounds nice."

Fifteen minutes later, they crossed the lobby, Deedee at Lucy's side. The cane was getting on Lucy's nerves. She hoped her ankle healed soon.

Outside, the day was hot and bright, the dry desert heat like sandpaper on Lucy's arms. She briefly considered going back inside and changing, but she didn't feel like hobbling all the way back to the room.

"Where do you want to go, sweetie?" Deedee asked.

Lucy looked up and down the street. To the south, a Clark County cherrypicker was parked at the sidewalk, its basket raised. A man in a hardhat unscrewed a lightbulb from a streetlamp and switched it out with a fresh one. Farther down, a group of people were busy replacing glass panes. To the north, a garbage truck idled in the street. Two men in orange vests carried a black bag between them and heaped it into the back. Lucy could only imagine what's inside.

"This way," Lucy finally said, starting south.

As she walked, she looked around in wonder. Big buildings rose into the blue sky. She recognized the names STARDUST and CESAR'S PALACE. Off to her left, she spied a replica of the Eiffel Tower.

"It's so beautiful," Lucy said.

"It's somethin', ain't it?" Deedee replied.

Gaudy signs loomed over the street. Palm trees wavered in the furnace breeze. People passed on the sidewalk, many of them wearing vests. Only a few cars rolled by. One of them, Lucy noted, was a black and white LVPD cruiser.

"How many officers does Barry have?" she asked.

"Five," Deedee replied. "Only one of them was a cop before, though."

Ahead, the buildings fell away, and the Strip veered off into a dumpy rush of fast food joints, gas stations, and seedy motels. Another cherrypicker was parked up ahead. The man in the basket was fighting to attach a red flag to a light pole. When he was finished, Lucy studied it. It boasted a strange black and yellow symbol that looked vaguely like a stick figure lifting its hands above its head. It reminded her of flags she had seen in history books at school.

"There's not much to see down there," Deedee said. "Unless you like looking at Burger Kings and 7-11s."

"Not really," Lucy said. She turned and they started walking back up the street. Though she didn't want to say anything, her ankle was really starting to bother her. She was leaning more heavily on the cane, her steps becoming slower and more shambling. Thankfully, Deedee suggested they have lunch, and Lucy gratefully agreed. She wanted to see what this "cafeteria" she'd heard so much was all about.

It turned out to be just that. A cafeteria. Before the plague hit, a restaurant had opened off the MGM's main lobby. When Flagg decided to make the hotel his base of operations, it had been hastily renovated. A long lunch counter flanked one wall. Through a little window, Lucy could see into the kitchen. People moved hurriedly back and forth.

Lunch tables, the kind they used at school, dominated the dining room, though tables and chairs lined the walls. A number of people were eating lunch, the chatter of their many conversations creating a droning din.

When they entered, a few people looked up. Lucy made sure her stone was showing. She wanted everyone to see it and know she was important.

At the lunch counter, Lucy grabbed an orange plastic tray and walked down the line. A beefy woman with a mole on her cheek slapped a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes onto her tray and smiled. Farther down, a young black man gave her some green beans. "There you go, ma'am," he said with a nod.

At the very end, Whitney stood over a deep metal pan filled with brown liquid. Like the others, he was wearing a white uniform, a hairnet, and latex gloves. When he saw her, he nodded. "Look who's up," he said. He saw her stone, and nodded. "And look who's a bigshot."

Lucy grinned. "I guess."

Deedee came along the line with her tray. "Hey, Whitney, what'cha got?"

"Salisbury steak," he said, "remember?"

"Shoot," she said, her shoulders sagging.

Whitney spread his hands in a _what can I do_ gesture. "Hey, it's free. What do you want?"

Deedee sighed. "Fine. Give me one. A _little_ one."

Whitney slapped a small piece of meat onto Deedee's tray, and then two onto Lucy's. "VIP's get extra," Whitney said with a wink. "And they get to make requests."

"Thank you." To Deedee: "Can you hold my tray?"

"Sure."

Deedee took Lucy's tray and carried it to one of the empty tables along the far wall. Lucy hobbled behind.

"I hate Salisbury steak," Deedee said when they were both seated. "But like he said, it's free."

They dug in, Deedee with no heart, Lucy with great heart. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until she was sitting over a plate of hot food. In fact, it was the first time she had been genuinely hungry in weeks. She was just finishing her first piece when a man entered the cafeteria, his eyes darting left and right. He looked to be in his late twenties and had lank, oily brown hair. He was dressed in a black T-shirt, green cargo pants, and black boots. His right arm was bandaged and his left hand was twisted at an impossible angle. His face, which was too long and narrow to be called anything else but "ratlike" was an angry red. Sunburned.

For a long moment, he stood where he was, looking around and licking his lips. From his body language, Lucy could tell he was nervous.

In her mind's eye, she saw a missile.

 _What did Lloyd call him? Trash?_

He finally moved, scurrying to the lunch counter. As he passed, Lucy noticed the black stone around his neck.

"He's creepy, huh?" Deedee said.

"Who is he?" Lucy asked, even though she already knew.

"They call him The Trashcan Man. He's some kind of weapons expert." Deedee's eyes widened. "Don't tell anyone I told you that. I'm not supposed to say anything."

Lucy looked at her strangely.

"Barry told me," she explained, "and I'm not supposed to repeat anything he says. He'd skin me alive if he found out." She laughed.

Lucy watched as Trash got his food and hurried to an out of the way table. An impression, rather than a vision, came to her: Trash had walked through the desert like her. He'd also biked. She didn't know where he came from, but something told her it was east.

He ate his lunch alone, and Lucy felt bad for him. She could only imagine how lonely he must feel. Thank God she had Deedee at least.

"I want to go talk to him."

"Why?" Deedee asked quickly.

"He looks lonely."

Deedee opened her mouth to protest further, but stopped. "Alright. But be careful. He's weird."

"So am I," Lucy replied.

Putting her weight on her cane, she got stiffly to her feet and waited as a group of construction workers filed by. When they had, she limped over.

When she walked up, Trash was focused on his tray, staring into his potatoes as if trying to divine the future.

"Nice sunburn," Lucy said, and Trash jumped a foot, swinging in his chair with wide eyes.

"Wh-What?"

"I said nice sunburn. You walked through the desert, didn't you?"

He hesitantly nodded.

"So did I. See?" She leaned down and showed him her shoulder. He looked at the peeling skin with the fascination of a child studying a bug. "I almost died."

"Me too," he said. "I-I broke my hand. See?" He held up the deformed appendage.

"I screwed my ankle up. I don't know how. Too much walking, I guess. What happened to your arm?"

"I-I b-burned it. In a _fire_."

A strange expression crossed his face when he uttered the word "fire." His eyes looked dreamy, faraway.

"I'm Lucy, by the way."

"I'm Trash."

"That's a funny name."

"That's just what they call me."

"Why?"

Trash looked shamefully down at his tray. "Because I used to blow people's trashcans up."

Lucy couldn't help but laugh. Trash looked at her with a hurt expression on his face. "I'm not laughing at you," she said, "I just think it's funny that you blew their trashcans up. I can imagine it."

Trash giggled. "It was fun."

"Where are you from?"

Lucy somehow _knew_ even before he spoke. "Indiana."

"I'm from Michigan. I went through Indiana."

His eyes lit up. "Did you go through Gary?"

Lucy thought for a second, then nodded.

"Was it on _fire_?"

Lucy shook her head. "No."

"It was later." He clapped his hands and laughed like a child. Lucy smiled politely. "I just wanted to say hi and welcome to Vegas." She started to turn. "Oh, nice stone." She held hers up.

"Yeah," Trash said, his hand creeping up to his neck. " _He_ gave it to me."

"Flagg?"

Trash nodded. Then muttered: " _My life for you_."

Lucy blinked. _Oooookay._

"Have a good day, Trash."

"You too."

Lucy went back to her table and sat down.

"Is he as weird as he looks?" Deedee asked, leaning conspiratorially in.

"He's a little different," Lucy said. "But he has Flagg's mark, so he's fine by me."

With that, Lucy finished her lunch. Maybe, she thought after, she'd hit Whitney up for some ice cream.


	17. Playing with Fire

Over the next week, Lucy slowly recovered. Her skin peeled, her ankle regained enough strength so that she could walk without the cane, though she still limped heavily. On July 26, a group arrived in town, composed primarily of southerners and Midwesterners, and one of them was the pediatrician Whitney had mentioned. She was a tall middle-aged woman with short honey blonde hair named Roberta Helsley. She met with Lucy that afternoon, and after a lengthy check-up, pronounced her healthy. "The limp, unfortunately, might be permanent. I'll have to talk to someone about getting an X-ray machine set up so I can see what's going on. Otherwise, you're doing great."

On the 27th, Deedee moved back in with Barry. Lucy was sad to see her go, even though she was only going two floors up. "I'll check on you every day," she said as they parted. She swept Lucy into a hug, and Lucy hugged her back. "And we can have lunch together every afternoon. If you're not busy." When she was gone, Lucy stood in the middle of her room (apartment, really). It was so empty and quiet, the only sound the whirring of the industrial air conditioner. She made a mental note to find a CD player and some CDs. There were a number of pawn shops in the area that Barry's men had locked up to prevent "looting" (Lucy didn't really understand that, why not let people just take whatever? God knew there was plenty to go around). She wondered if Flagg (or Barry, whoever was directly in charge) would let her in. She had the black stone of Flagg's inner circle, after all. She was important.

The quiet eventually became too much, and her thoughts turned in a dark direction, so she decided to walk. At first, only up and down the long hall. There were three other people on her floor. A man named Carl Hough who had come in a few days after her (he was a pilot, Deedee said), a teenaged girl named Julie Lawry (in the three days that Julie had been there, Lucy had seen her take five different men into her room, for what purpose she didn't know, and didn't _want_ to know), and Trash. Lucy met him in the hall on the 28th. He was coming from the elevators, his eyes distant and murky. When Lucy saw him she said, "I guess you're my neighbor."

He started and looked at her, his eyes clearing. "Y-Yeah," he said, "I live in room 259."

"Nice to see a familiar face."

She nodded, and they went their separate ways. Later that night, as she lay in bed reading a magazine she'd taken from the lobby (it was dated June 22 and filled with plague related news, rumors, and commentary), a vision came to her. In it, Trash was perched on top of what looked like a giant oil tank, his hands trembling as he removed something from a bag. He grinned madly and chucked the device into a wide opening. Next, she saw fire mushrooming into the sky.

 _Pyromaniac_.

She blinked and sat the magazine down, her head buzzing. He was a pyromaniac and when the plague hit he was in jail, or a mental hospital. Something. She couldn't see clearly. He heard voices too. Something about a pension check and wetting the bed.

She hoped Flagg had him on antipsychotics. Then again, he probably didn't _need_ antipsychotics, not with Flagg around.

On July 29, one day and one month after leaving Royal Woods, Lucy left the MGM Grand for the first time on her own and walked around the immediate vicinity, leaving the Strip and wandering side streets. Many of the buildings she passed were marked with big red X's. Deedee told her that the body crew drew those to denote a place that had been cleared. A cleaning crew would come behind and disinfect. Deedee had been part of the cleaning crew before she took off to mind Lucy, and from what she said, she was going back. "It's not as fun as hanging out with you, but everyone's gotta do their part."

Lucy dreamed some. Usually it was about her family. They were always gatherered (sometimes on the couch back in Royal Woods, and sometimes here in her apartment), and watched her with sad expressions on their faces. On the 30th, she had dream that she was lying in bed when the door opened and Mother Abagail shuffled into the room. Lucy's blood turned to ice water.

"Child," Mother Abagail said, "you got work to do."

"What are you doing here?" Lucy asked tightly.

"You ain't lost yet, little girl. And I reckon you won't be."

"Get out."

Mother shook her head sadly. "Some folks gotta do it the hard way. You one of them."

" _Get out!"_

The TV exploded, showering Mother with bits of glass and plastic. She took no notice. "You just remember, Lucy. You made your choice. This is how you're going to do it."

When Lucy woke in the thin morning light, she was slathered in sweat and breathing heavy. She sat up and switched on the bedside lamp.

In the corner, the TV was busted, pieces of it strewn across the floor.

 _Why won't she leave me alone?_ Lucy thought as she wrapped her arms around her knees.

On August 1, Trash left Vegas with a group of people tasked with getting the infrastructure at Boulder Dam up and running. She saw him climbing onto a yellow Clark County school bus as she left for her morning walk.

That afternoon, just as she was stepping out of the shower, the phone on her bedside table rang, startling her. She sat down and picked it up. "Hello?"

"Lucy." It was Lloyd.

"Hey, Lloyd. How's it going?"

"Good. Look, the big guy wants to see you this afternoon. Said something about school being in."

Lucy's heart leapt. "Sure. What time?"

"Uhhh...half an hour. That work?"

"Yeah. That's fine."

"Alright, bye."

Twenty-five minutes later, Lucy was standing outside of Flagg's door. She knocked, and he called out for her to enter.

Inside, Flagg, shirtless (his chiseled chest made Lucy's heart patter) was standing by the bar, finishing a drink.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Loud," he said and sat the glass on the counter. "Are you ready to unlock your powers?"

"More ready than I've ever been."

Flagg laughed. "Good. Take a seat." He motioned to the floor.

Lucy walked over and sat down, crossing her legs. Flagg hunkered down across from her. For a moment he looked thoughtful. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to have to ask you to lose the dress."

"What?"

"It helps to be as natural as possible," he said. "Magic is a primitive thing. When our ancestors were doing it, they were wearing loin cloths and coconut bras. Getting back to basics kind of...helps things along" He stood back up and unzipped his pants. He was wearing plain white boxer shorts. Lucy blushed.

He threw his pants aside and sat down. "I know it's a little weird, but bear with me, okay?"

"Okay."

With a sigh, she lifted her dress and tossed it aside. She was thankful that she was wearing the training bra Deedee brought her her first night in Vegas. She had no breasts to speak of, but she found herself slipping into it before leaving anyway.

"Alright," Flagg said with a grin. "Here's what I want you to do first. Close your eyes and think about your family. Really focus."

Lucy nodded and closed her eyes. She drew up a picture of her family. It was from one of the recent dreams. Her siblings were shoved together on the couch, her parents standing behind it.

"Drink it in," Flagg said lowly, "every hair, every pore."

She zoomed in on Luan first, then Lola. Suddenly, the picture became so clear that it was as if she were actually there. Back home. In Royal Woods. With her family.

"How do you feel?" Flagg's voice echoed.

"Happy," Lucy muttered. In the vision, Lincoln and Luna made a spot for her, and she sat down. All was right with the world.

"You want to stay."

"Yes."

"You can't. Open your eyes."

Against her will, Lucy's eyes opened. Flagg was behind her now, his hands resting on either side of her head. Such sorrow filled her that she nearly cried out.

"That bottle on the counter. Break it."

Lucy glanced at the bottle and it shattered as if shot.

"Good," Flagg said. He leaned over her shoulder and looked at her. "It's energy, Lucy. It's all energy. Rage, hatred, sadness. It _fuels_ you. Think of Mother Abagail, that hateful bitch who wants to destroy you. Doesn't it make you mad?"

"Yes," Lucy said.

"All we've been through, all you've been through...and she wants to march in her and cut your throat."

Anger rose in her. She trembled.

"Smash that glass."

She looked at the glass, and it exploded.

"Good. Now do something else for me. Close your eyes and send your mind out."

Lucy cocked her head. "Send my mind out?"

"Yeah. Close your eyes and imagine your consciousness separating from your body."

"Okay." She closed her eyes and tilted her head forward. She imagined her mind leaving her body, and suddenly she was soaring high above the desert.

"There," Flagg said. She was vaguely aware of his hands pressing harder against her skull. An electric tingle ran through her. "Now where do you want to go?"

Suddenly, she was over a town. It was familiar. It was...

...Royal Woods. There was her house.

With no effort on her part, she banked down and rushed toward the front door. It blew open and she was inside. Framed pictures fell from the wall. Papers on the coffee table blew here and there. She rushed up the stairs and into her room, the door slamming open. The window shattered, and she was in the backyard, a street over, leaving town.

"Turn around," Flagg said. " _Will_ it."

Lucy gritted her teeth and _willed_ herself to turn back. She rushed toward the house again. She went through the back door (which exploded open) and through the kitchen.

"Good," Flagg said. "Now...can you see me?"

Lucy was suddenly soaring over Las Vegas, the afternoon sun glinting on the many glass buildings. She rushed toward the MGM. She was going too fast. She had to slow down.

"No," Flagg said, "fast."

She was screaming toward the hotel. Below, cars moved in the streets and people rushed along the sidewalk. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to slow. She went gently through an open balcony door, and saw herself sitting on the floor. Flagg was behind her, pressing his hands between her head, a strange look on his face. He turned to her, his face darkening.

"Yes."

"Now?"

He strained.

"Yes."

"Come back."

Lucy opened her eyes. Flagg was sitting in front of her now.

"That was very good," he said with a grin. Then his face hardened. "I want you to listen to me, Lucy. Separating from your body like this is very dangerous, and you are only to do it in my presence, okay?"

Lucy swallowed. "Okay."

"I've had a lot of practice, and even I don't like doing it too much. A lot of things can go wrong. Something could happen to your body, and you'd be a floating ball of awareness forever."

"I understand."

"Good," Flagg grinned. "Have you been having visions? Lloyd tells me you saw him in Phoenix."

"Yes. Occasionally."

"That's you subconsciously picking up the brainwaves people emit. You can control it. Look, Barry was here fifteen minutes before you came in. I'm sure his energy is still hanging around. Close your eyes and read it."

"How?" 

"Picture him and speak his name."

"Okay."

Lucy closed her eyes and called up an image of Barry's face. She muttered his name, and suddenly she saw him standing by the door. Flagg was sitting on the sofa.

"I want him put on a crossbar," Flagg said, his face dark, his eyes piercing. "Make an example out of him."

"Alright," Barry said, looking uncomfortable. "I'll have one made up. When do you want it done?"

"Tomorrow."

"What do you see?" Flagg asked.

"I see...you and Barry. Talking. Putting someone on a crossbar."

She opened her eyes.

Flagg was pale.

"What's a crossbar? And who are you making an example of?"

Flagg's face darkened, and Lucy cringed.

"Heck Drogan," Flagg said. "He was doing something destructive."

"What are you going to do to him?"

"I don't want to talk about it." He got up and pulled his pants on. Lucy watched him, her heart beating fast. The air crackled with dark electricity. She upset him.

"I'm sorry I asked," she said. "It's none of my business."

"You're fine," he said, "it's just a touchy subject. One I had hoped wouldn't come up. Unfortunately, the last vestiges of the old world still linger." He sighed. "You can go now. I want you to rest your powers. You're feeling tired, aren't you?"

Lucy took stock of her body. She _did_ feel a little fatigued. She nodded.

"It's draining," Flagg said. "I'll see you the day after tomorrow, okay? I'll have Lloyd call you."

"Okay," Lucy said and got up.

Flagg smiled and held up a finger. "Remember: No separating your mind from your body. And you might want to hold off on reading energy."

Lucy nodded. She wanted to ask him why she shouldn't read energy (was it dangerous somehow too?), but she didn't press the matter.

Instead, she went downstairs and had Whitney give her some ice cream.

\- 2 –

After Lucy Loud left, Flagg lashed out and kicked the wall, putting a large hole in it. Fuming, he punched it for good measure, his arm sinking into the sheetrock.

She wasn't supposed to see him. She wasn't supposed to be able to read his energy. He was right there, shooting electricity into her brain, and yet she still saw him. He told her to read Barry's energy. And she did. He was right _fucking_ there. He saw his face pop into her mind, heard her speak his name. She was only supposed to see the security chief.

But she saw him too.

Flagg ripped his hand out of the walk and walked away, his hands flying to his hips. He went out on the balcony and looked over the city.

He'd fix this. It would take longer than he thought, but he'd fix this.

 _And if you can't?_

He'd drain her.

He was sure he could do that.

\- 3-

That night, Lucy found sleep elusive. She tossed and turned, but couldn't get her mind to shut down. She kept thinking back to the utter freedom she felt as he consciousness sailed over the earth. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before.

Though Flagg had told her not to, Lucy found herself reading people's energy that afternoon. Carl Hough, who she had seen only once in the hall, was leaving for Indian Springs in the morning. Julie Lawry was...Lucy didn't want to think about it...and Trash was hearing voices still, which worried her. She should tell Flagg.

Finally, at 1am by the clock on the nightstand, she sat up. Sighing, feeling guilty, she closed her eyes, and was suddenly over the moonlit desert, cold wind rushing over her. She felt weightless. Not like a bird but like the breeze.

Below her, mountains reached up toward her. She willed herself to turn left, but a force held her in place. Panic rose within her.

Soon, she was over a town, and the force dragged her down. She rushed along a street, and noticed that candles burned in several residential windows. Where was she?

She was yanked left, and found herself staring into a window. An oil lamp burned on a nightstand, casting a dim glow on the walls. Someone was bent over a bed in prayer.

"Lord, I am weak," a familiar voice said. Lucy's heart raced. "Show me the way. Show me what I must do to lead these people."

It was Mother Abagail.

As if on cue, the old woman lifted her head to the heavens. Dark shadows flickered across her face.

"That other...the man in the desert...God, let him leave us be. I don't want anymore killing. Please, God. But you will be done."

Mother Abagail opened her eyes, and Lucy panicked. She pulled away, and the force holding her let go. She was suddenly high in the sky, flying back to Vegas. The city and its scattered lights, seeming a ship at sea, appeared, and Lucy banked down toward the MGM. She willed herself to slow. As she closed in, she saw a dark figure standing on the penthouse balcony. It was Flagg.

 _I'm coming, Mother._

Lucy opened her eyes and gasped, her heart racing. She was weak and shaky.

She did not sleep that night.


	18. A Crucifixion

Lucy Loud woke on the morning of August 2 to an atmosphere of expectant dread. She met Deedee for breakfast; she wasn't her usual talkative self.

"You hear about the event later?"

Lucy shook her head.

"Flagg wants everyone to gather in Century Park at 2. Barry won't tell me what it's about, but it's important. Everyone at Boulder Dam's coming back for it."

Lucy remembered what she had seen the day before. Something about someone being put on a crossbar and being made an example of.

After breakfast, Lucy got a call from Lloyd.

"Hey, Luce," he said. He sounded glum.

"Hey, Lloyd."

"There's something going on at Century Park today at two. Everyone's going to be there. Flagg wants you to hang back, though."

"Why?"

"He said he doesn't want you to see it. He's going to talk to you about it when he sees you tomorrow."

Lucy opened her mouth to protest, but stopped. "Sure."

"Thanks, Luce."

After she hung up, she sat heavily on the bed. What was going to happen? And more importantly, why didn't Flagg want her to see it?

She knew that if one was "made an example of" something bad was going to happen to them. What was Flagg going to do? And why?

Though she wanted to take her morning walk, she stayed in her apartment, absently reading an old issue of _People_ magazine. She watched the clock. 10:00am. 11:00am. Time dragged. Finally, at noon, she could wait no more. She shut the magazine, sat up on her bed, and closed her eyes.

She flew through the streets. She was going too fast again. She willed herself to slow, and did, to the point where she was moving at a brisk walk. Century Park was off of Buffalo Drive, a large, flat patch of tree crammed grass with well-manicured lawns, a pool, a baseball diamond, and a playground. In a clearing, a giant metal cross had been erected. A number of cars were parked on the grass nearby, and a group of people busily worked to erect a makeshift stage in front of the cross.

Lucy opened her eyes. A cross? Crosses were for church. Right?

She waited impatiently until two, then closed her eyes again. This time she called up the vision of Century Park, and was there instantly. The open space was packed with people. There were hundreds, surprising her: She didn't know there were that many people in Vegas.

Gritting her teeth and willing herself to move slowly, she floated above the crowd. They were all talking.

Lucy paused before reaching the stage. She looked up, and her stomach twisted. A man was hanging from the contraption, his wrists bound to the crossbar with zip ties. He was youngish, Hispanic, and dressed only in a thin pair of basketball shorts. His eyes were wide with terror, and he thrashed. A sign hung from around his neck. ADDICT it said.

"Take a good, long look," Flagg said. He was standing on the platform, Barry on one side and Lloyd on the other. Both of them looked nervous. "This is where addiction gets you. This is where murder and drunkenness and lying and setting yourself up against the rebirth of society gets you. People like Heck Drogan here are trash. They - "

Heck let out a pained scream.

"-They will hold us back."

Lucy's eyes shot open. Her heart was slamming and her stomach was sick. She tried to fight the bile rising in her throat, but couldn't. She jumped up, ran to the bathroom, and vomited into the toilet bowl. Heck Drogan's agonized expression haunted her.

Back in the bedroom, she sat in her chair and closed her eyes again. People were streaming out of Century Park, every one of them looking as haunted as she felt.

She didn't leave the room for the rest of the day, not even for dinner. She sent her consciousness back to the park several times. The last, a large crow was perched on Heck's head, busy pecking his eyes out as he wailed in pain.

She threw up again.

That night, he stalked her dreams. When she woke before dawn, the atmosphere was still heavy.

She suspected that it would always be.

\- 2 –

That afternoon at 2, Lucy walked into Flagg's suite and shut the door behind her. Flagg was sitting in the middle of the floor, drawing a strange symbol on the tiles with a piece of chalk. Candles were arranged in a rough five point star around the drawing.

"Just give me _one_ minute," Flagg said, concentrating on what he was doing. When he was done, he tossed the chalk aside and stood up. "There."

"What's that?" Lucy asked.

"It's an experiment."

"What kind of experiment?"

"You'll see."

Flagg went over to the bar and made himself a drink. Lucy cleared her throat and said, "I heard someone was executed yesterday."

"Yeah," Flagg said over his shoulder, "unfortunately, Heck Drogan was using heroin." Flagg turned and regarded her seriously. "I didn't want to do it, but we gotta keep people in line here. It sounds bad to put it that way, I know, but look at the world we just got rid of. You couldn't even walk down the street at night without someone mugging you or raping you or killing you just to kill you. Drugs, the hard stuff like H, was at the root of a _lot_ of evil. If I sit back and let people start that bullshit all over again, where are we gonna be in a hundred or two hundred years? We're gonna be right back to the way we were. Cooking meth in garages and feeding it to kids, cooking Superflu and weaponized anthrax in government labs and feeding it to everyone."

His words made a dark, draconian sort of sense, but Lucy's heart rebelled. "I think hanging a man on a cross is going a little too far."

Flagg spread his hands. "Maybe it was. I don't know. I'm not perfect, Lucy. This is my first time leading a brave new world. I know it sure doesn't _feel_ right."

He sighed and shook his head.

Lucy opened her mouth to continue, to ask how he could order such a thing, but stopped. Some deep, reptilian part of her brain told her that pushing Flagg too far could be dangerous.

"You ready?" he asked then.

For a moment Lucy didn't know if she was or not. "Yes," she finally said.

"Sit in the middle of the outline."

She did, and removed her shirt without being asked. Flagg remained dressed and standing by the bar. "Close your eyes and blow out those candles with your mind."

"Okay." She closed her eyes, welled up her energy, and imagined the candles doing dark. She opened her eyes.

They were.

Flagg instructed her to do several things: Move a bottle of liquor across the counter, carefully, which she did; send her mind out into the desert, which she did. The session was over in less than an hour.

"I want you to rest for a week," Flagg said.

"That long?" Lucy asked, impatient.

"I want you to build up steam," Flagg said with a wink.

Nodding, Lucy got up. She started to leave, but stopped. "Can I...can I be assigned to the cleaning crew with Deedee? I don't like just sitting around. It makes me feel useless."

Flagg grinned. "You're far from useless, but if you want, sure."

"Thanks."

When she was gone, Flagg stepped into the center of the outline. It worked; some of Lucy's power had been trapped inside. It flowed into him, crackling in his veins like electricity. He smiled.

While meditating last night, it came to him: He could use her as a power source. He could syphon small amounts of her power to supplement his own when needed. Then, one day, if he had to, he could take it all. Of course, keeping her around was risky. She was too good a person to not stand in his way. He could drain her all at once, but something told him not to. He might need her one day.

To be honest, he didn't know _what_ he was going to do. Whatever it was, it would most likely involve keeping Lucy around. 

Right then, he almost wished she had died along with her family.


	19. The Book of Revelation

The first two weeks of August passed in a blur. Lucy joined Deedee's crew on a Monday: Her, Deedee, and six other women were charged with going street to street and cleaning houses and buildings with X's on them. They wore white jumpsuits, facemasks, and boots. It was hard work, but Lucy liked it. It kept her busy.

Her day started at seven and ended at six. On Monday, they were on East Desert End Road. By Friday, they had worked their way fifteen blocks north into North Las Vegas. On August 9, Lucy met with Flagg again, and while she sent her mind out over the endless, unpeopled miles, he held her head in her his hands. That session was difficult. She kept losing her train of thought, and her vision kept going out. She met with him again on the 12th, and it happened again.

"I think we're pushing you a little too hard," he said. "Power such as this usually doesn't really start until puberty. I think we should take a break. A couple weeks, maybe. And whatever you do: Don't use your powers. You might lose them."

Even though she had only had them for a short time, the thought of losing them scared her. She _had_ been sending her mind out into the wilderness at night. She decided to stop then and there.

Sometimes, though, visions simply _came_ to her. She spent most of her days off with Deedee, and sometimes Barry was there too. A few times when she was in his presence, she saw visions that she didn't understand, or didn't _want_ to understand: People, fear on their faces, being locked in cells, doors being kicked open in the middle of the night, and the occupants being dragged away. It wasn't uncommon for people to drop out of sight in Vegas. One day a house would be occupied, the next it would stand empty.

Most of the people she saw in her daily rounds looked scared. Maybe not scared exactly, but worried, or nervous. She heard whispered rumors that she tried to ignore. Flagg supposedly turned someone in Portland (where he had established an outpost) into a bug and stepped on him because he said something critical of the regime. Lloyd shot someone and burned their body in the desert because they were planning to flee to Boulder. Lucy found that one hardest to believe. Lloyd was a nice guy. She simply couldn't picture him shooting someone.

At night, she dreamed, mainly of Boulder. Though she couldn't remember these dreams very well in the morning, she always woke with the impression that the people there were happier than the people in Vegas. On the 18th, she risked losing her powers and sent her mind over the Rockies. It was day, and she saw people very much like the people in Vegas. They worked, they came home. And indeed, they lacked the guarded look that characterized the people of Vegas. Lucy found them fascinating. She didn't know what she was expecting (fanged monsters?), but they were just like the people here, trying to get along.

She visited Boulder every day for nearly a week. On the evening of the 23rd, they held some kind of meeting in a community center. Lucy watched as they democratically elected a town council headed by Mother Abagail. During this outing, something happened that had never happened before: Lucy was able to "read" energy. Up until now, she could only do it if the energy was in the same room as her.

What she read shocked her. The people in Boulder were afraid. Not of Mother Abagail, not of the new town council, but of Flagg.

She turned her eye inward, to her own city, and saw what she took to be Indian Springs AFB. She saw hangers and barbed wire fences, tarmac and military vehicles. In one of the hangers, Trash giddily attached a missile to the wing of a jet fighter while Barry and several other men looked on.

"Take it easy, will you?" Barry asked. "You're gonna blow _us_ up."

"Doesn't happen that way," Trash said. "The denonator's gotta go. You could drop this thing from a million miles up, but if the denoator doesn't spark, all it's gonna do is crush someone." He giggled at the thought.

Lucy opened her eyes then, her heart racing. She sat on her bed for a long time, as afternoon cooled to dusk, trying to process the things she had seen. Flagg was wrong about the people in Boulder. They didn't mean them harm.

 _They're electing leaders and we're loading planes with bombs. Who's the bad guy?_

Neither one, she asserted. There was nothing wrong with arming planes to defend yourself. It just so happened that in this case, they needed _need_ to defend themselves.

She closed her eyes and found Flagg sitting alone in his suite. She imagined herself slipping into his mind: She got in, repeating the phrase _Indian Springs, Indian Springs, Indian Springs_ , and, before a dark force ejected her, she saw a vision: Planes flying through the crystal blue sky, dumping bombs on a city she had never seen (at least outside of her dreams). She saw buildings blowing up, and people running through the streets. She then saw an armored column with Flagg at its head invading by ground. Flagg grinned and his eyes blazed. Men with machine guns hunted down every light Boulderite and shot them, including women and children.

Lucy came back to herself with a moan of horror. She was sitting in the dark, her ears ringing.

It was a nightmare, she told herself. That's all. There was no way people in Vegas would hunt down and kill other human beings. No way.

But deep inside, she knew it _was_ real, and somewhere in her soul, she began to realize she had been deceived.

On August 25, she met with Flagg. He said he had important work for her in Portland. He was still getting everything "into place," but he wanted her to go there in September "for a few weeks, maybe a month." She tried to read him, but couldn't. She agreed because what else could she do?

During their meeting, she paid special attention to his face, especially his eyes. Was she paranoid, or were they cold, reptilian?

That night, she had a dream. In it, she saw a woman leaving Boulder on a motorcycle. Shortly thereafter, a hulking blonde man left on a bike. Later still, an elderly black man drove out in a Jeep. They were coming west. To what end, she didn't know. When she woke, she sent her mind out, and found a blonde woman sleeping by a highway in Utah, a motorcycle parked next to a tree. Lucy read her, and the word SCOUT flashed across her mind.

Spy.

They were sending spies.

 _Look around. See what you can see. Look for weapons, military build-up...any signs these people actually mean us harm._

Her first instinct was to tell Flagg. She picked up the phone to dial Lloyd, but froze.

No. She couldn't tell. Flagg would "make an example" out of them. In her heart, Lucy felt they meant them no harm.

So she hung the phone back up.

 _He probably already knows about them_.

That thought stuck Lucy's stomach like a dagger. He probably already knew about them, and he would do to them what he did to Heck Drogan.

She felt lost, stricken. She went through the motions of life for the final week of August. Deedee noticed the change in her, and was so concerned that Lucy wanted to cry. "I'm fine," she said, "just nightmares is all."

"I have 'em too," Deedee said. "I think everyone in town does."

"Deedee?"

"Yeah, hun?"

"What do you think it's like in Boulder?"

A flash of surprise crossed the older woman's face. "Well...I-I guess they're just trying to get by like us. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

On August 26, a woman named Dayna arrived in town. She claimed to be from Ohio. Lucy saw her once, as she moved through the lunch line in the cafeteria. Her aura felt...different. She read her, and saw the word SCOUT again. On the 28th, a big blonde man named Tom Cullen came into town. He was slightly retarded, and claimed that the people in Boulder banished him because he was having sex with a woman and they were afraid he'd get her pregnant "with another retard."

On August 29, Lucy closed her eyes and saw the black man leaving Boulder.

 _I want him shot,_ she heard Flagg say. Whether he had already said this, was currently saying it, or would say it in the future, she didn't know. _But don't mark his head. I want it sent back over the Rockies on a pike._

 _Alright._ It was Lloyd. _I'll have the roads watched._

 _All the way from the Mexican border to the Canadian border,_ Flagg said. _And God help the poor son of a bitch who fucks this up._

She didn't sleep at all that night. Her soul was in turmoil. What kind of society was this? What kind of world where people were hung from crosses and heads were impaled on pikes?

 _We really_ are _the bad guys._

That realization twisted her heart. Tears welled in her eyes. She thought back to the dream she had after trying to kill Mother Abagail, the one of Luan pleading with her to go back. She thought it was Mother Abagail playing with her head, but she knew now that it was Flagg who was playing with her head.

For the first time in her young life, Lucy was moved, genuinely moved, to pray.

Getting down on her knees by her bedside, she wondered what to say.

"Help me," she said simply. "Help me."

Nothing happened. No rays of sunshine, no white doves, no signs. It didn't really work that way though, did it?

"I fell for it," she said. "Hook, line, and sinker. I thought he was a good guy. I...I thought he was my friend. What do I do?"

God, if He was there, did not reply.

Lucy sighed. She remembered a phrase she had heard. God helps those who help themselves. For some reason that saying ran through her mind again and again. _God helps those who help themselves, God helps those who help themselves..._

"Is this my sign? What do I do? What _can_ I do?"

She didn't know, and it frustrated her.

\- 2 –

Randall Flagg didn't like admitting defeat. As far as he could remember, loss was a flavor he had never tasted. Of course, he couldn't remember much before the middle of June. Come to think of it, he could hardly recall even that, which disturbed him. He tried to remember how he'd come across the white sports car he rarely drove, and couldn't. He. Fucking. Couldn't.

Digressions aside, he was not a man who gave up easily, but when it came to Lucy Loud, he was throwing in the towel. She was too strong. She didn't know it, thank God, but if she wanted to, she could probably kick him off his throne and take over. She could see him in her visions, she could read his energy (and probably his mind too), and you know what? He couldn't do the same to her. She was like a dark chest of wonders with a big, maddening lock that he couldn't pick no matter how hard he tried. When he called up her vision, he saw only darkness. Her energy was a foreign language. Her mind was blocked. Her telekinesis was as good as his own. Probably better.

Though he couldn't read her psychically, he could read her body language and her facial expressions. She wasn't the same girl who had stumbled into Vegas barely a month ago. She was more guarded, not as...not as...damn it, what was the word? Not as _invested_. That was close enough. She was pulling away. And at this, the most critical time. Spies from Boulder were in town or on their way (he knew about Dayna, but he would wait to take her...let her think she was safe and undetected, and about the black man everyone in Boulder called The Judge, but he didn't know about the third one, the blonde man). It was an act of war, and Flagg had already decided to launch a strike on Boulder before the first snow flew. There were other things on his plate too.

The last thing he needed was Lucy Loud in Vegas.

Which is why he was taking her to Portland on September 3. There were one hundred and fifty people in the city, mainly engineers and technicians of varying inclinations. It was a small operation, and he hoped Lucy would be content to twiddle her thumbs there until all this blew over and he could deal with her. And by "deal with her" he meant snapping her stupid little neck and drinking her powers like a refreshing beverage ( _ahhhh_ ).

Until then, he'd still have to worry about her.

And Flagg didn't like to worry.


	20. Birthday

The morning of September 1 dawned clear and warm. Lucy Loud had been awake most of the night, sitting in a chair by the window and watching the bright desert moon. She felt helpless and adrift. Things were happening around her, bad things, and she was powerless to stop them. She tried to read Flagg's mind, but couldn't, though in the night she saw him on his balcony, staring up at the moon much like her. He looked deep in thought.

It occurred to her that she could push him, summon up all the psychic energy she had and shove, but the thought of failing filled her with terror. What would happen to her? She imagined a dark, dank cell in the Clark County lock-up and unmentionable torture _if_ she was lucky. If she wasn't, Flagg would hang her from a crossbar like he did to poor Heck Drogan. She pictured crows pecking her eyes out and the hot sun lashed her like the wipe of an angry god, and she shivered.

She had to do _something_ though. She couldn't let this continue. Not the Gestapo shit, not the planned rape of Boulder, not Flagg's dark magic. She wished, not for the first time, that she had died on the road to Vegas. How much easier it would have been had she dropped in Utah and never gotten back up.

This, she realized, was her punishment. She was in over her head and damned to watch as the last remnants of humankind killed itself at the behest of a demon.

She closed her eyes and prayed. She couldn't really call it "prayer." It was more talking and hoping someone was listening.

"I can't go after Flagg. He's too strong. What _else_ can I do? Blow the city up?"

She imagined that she would have many, many sleepless nights to mull it over.

When amber sunlight began streaming through the window, she got up and took a shower. The hot water soothed her frazzled nerves. She lingered until the water was cold, then got out and dressed in a pair of black slacks and a black, sleeveless blouse. The black stone hung from her neck, and she took it in her hands. What did Flagg call it? His "mark"?

She let it drop against her shirt. Not long ago she had been proud to wear it, now she was ashamed. She wanted to rip the hateful thing off and cast it away. Instead, she let it remain as a sign of her mistake. A millstone round her neck.

At 8:00, a knock came at the door. She really wasn't in the mood to socialize, and thought briefly of ignoring it. Instead, she answered it.

It was Deedee. "There's the birthday girl!" she said and swept Lucy into a hug. It _was_ her birthday, wasn't it? She'd totally forgotten.

"You're crushing my spine," Lucy said.

"Sorry," Deedee let her go. "I'm just excited." She stroked Lucy's cheek, and Lucy smiled. "You want some breakfast?"

No, she didn't, but she didn't want to disappoint Deedee. Her birthday seemed to mean more to the older woman than it did to her. "Always," she said.

Deedee squeezed her shoulder. "Come on."

The cafeteria was packed with people. It seemed to Lucy that every time she went in there were more. Flagg mentioned once that people would probably still be trickling in next Spring. How many people _were_ there? Lisa said that only 1 percent of the world's population would be naturally immune to the Superflu, but Lucy wasn't sure how accurate her research was, as she was dying and delirious herself, staying at her lab until the very end. If she was right and only 1 percent made it, that would mean that there were roughly 74 million people left on earth. Of course, there had to have been a slew of deaths not directly related to the plague. Murders, suicides, accidents.

At the counter, Whitney smiled at her. "I hear someone's having a birthday today."

"The big 09," Lucy said, and forced a grin.

"Hey, it only happens once." He slapped a spatula full of blackened eggs on her plate. "These are your favorite, right?"

"Yes," Lucy said, touched. "How did you know?"

"A little birdy told me."

Flagg. Had to be. No one else knew she liked her eggs burned.

"I also made this for you," he said, pulling out a chocolate cupcake with black frosting. He sat it on the tray. "Happy Birthday."

"Thank you."

As she ate and Deedee prattled on about all the things she wanted to do with her today, Lucy wondered how so many good people had ended up in Vegas. Why weren't they in Boulder?

It hit her then. They were deceived. Just like she was. Flagg told them an attractive lie and they came to him. She wondered if any regretted it the way she did.

"...doesn't that sound fun?" Deedee asked.

"Yeah," Lucy said, even though she hadn't heard a word she said. She forced herself to finish her eggs, even though her stomach was sour. Whitney went through the trouble of making them for her, and she appreciated that. When she was done, she used her knife to cut the cupcake in half.

"Here," she said, putting part of it on a napkin and handing it to Deedee.

Deedee held up her hands. "No, that's yours. I don't want any."

"Please," Lucy insisted. "You're my friend and I want you to have it."

"Aw, okay," Deedee laughed. She took the cupcake and ate it. "This is really good."

Even though Lucy wasn't hungry, she couldn't deny: It _was_ a good cupcake. A little on the rich side, but delicious nonetheless. "So good I regret giving you half," Lucy said, and she and Deedee laughed.

After breakfast, Lucy followed Deedee through the lobby and out into the rough Vegas heat. First they went to a clothing store that had been locked up since June. "Barry gave me the key and permission. Plus, I doubt anyone will mess with us. You have Flagg's stone."

They had the run of the entire store. "Anything you want, you can have," Deedee said. Lucy didn't care about clothes, but browsed for Deedee's sake. She tried on a dozen outfits and modeled them for her friend; by her excited reaction, Lucy knew what she thought was "cute" or "adorable," and chose accordingly.

Next, they went to Vegasland, a theme park on the outskirts of the city. It was empty save for one tech in an orange vest Lloyd ordered to operate the rides. They rode every roller coaster in the park, and by the end of it, Lucy was actually having fun.

After that, they stopped by the cafeteria for lunch. Whitney made her a cheeseburger that blew her taste buds out the back of her head, and gave her another cupcake. "How many of these did you make?" she asked.

"A dozen," Whitney replied. "You had two, I had one, Barry had three, Lloyd had one, and my guys in the back here each got one."

"Barry can really pound them down, huh?"

"You have no idea," he said, and leaned close. "He's a nice enough guy, but he's a real fatty when it comes to food."

As he spoke, Lucy unintentionally caught a whiff of his energy. She didn't have a vision, exactly, but she could feel his emotions. He was scared and...digusted?

While she ate, she watched him, actively reading him. She saw him at Heck Drogan's execution, a look of horror on his face. Next, she saw him talking to Lloyd.

 _I'm thinking of bugging out,_ he said. _I just...I don't know if I can take this Nazi shit._

Lloyd nodded. _If that's what you want._

 _I'm thinking Brazil. I was there when I was in the army. Beautiful. Y-You're not gonna tell Flagg, are you?_

 _I won't say anything._

 _Thanks. You should come with me. There are a few others who're gonna tag along. We can start our own city._

Lloyd shook his head. _I promised Flagg I'd stay with him. He saved me from a pretty tight spot and I owe him. Win or lose. I made my choice and I'm sticking with it._

 _Good for you, Whitney,_ Lucy thought.

After lunch, Deedee insisted they go out to the pool. At this time on a Thursday afternoon, it was empty. The water felt good, though.

By the time four 'o'clock rolled around, Lucy was exhausted and begged off. "I need a nap."

Alone in her room, with the soft rush of the air vents, Lucy fell asleep in minutes, and didn't wake until the phone rang at seven that evening. It was Lloyd. "We need you at Flagg's," he said, and her heart dropped. Did he know?

"A-alright," she said. "Give me five minutes."

Five minutes later, she stood outside of Flagg's door. Taking a deep breath, she resolved to take whatever came.

She opened the door.

" _Surprise!"_

Lucy fell back half a step. Flagg, Barry, Lloyd, Whitney, and Deedee were crammed into the living room, each one wearing a party hat. A banner hung over the bar. HAPPY BIRTHDAY. Balloons were taped to the wall.

Lucy was certainly surprised.

"Wow," she said, coming in and looking around. "You shouldn't have."

"Yes, we should have," Flagg said. He walked over and placed a paper hat on her head. "Nine only comes around once in a lifetime. Unless you're reincarnated."

Barry came next. "Happy Birthday. Me and Dee got you this." He handed her a small oblong box wrapped in red wrapping paper.

"Open it," Deedee said excitedly.

Lucy tore the paper and opened the box. Inside was a sliver bracelet, her name spelled out with dangly letters.

"I love it," Lucy said earnestly. She put it on.

"I made an ice cream cake," Whitney said. He was leaning against the bar. The cake sat on the counter. It was white with blue frosting around the edges. "These things are a pain in the ass. Excuse my language."

"My gift's more of an idea," Flagg said. "From now on, every September 1 will be Lucy Loud Day."

A wave of conflicting emotions ran through Lucy's heart. This was so nice of them. How could she count them as her enemies?

 _No,_ she cautioned herself, _I won't be fooled again._

None of them were her enemies anyway. Except for Flagg. He was everyone's enemy.

"Thank you," Lucy said, hoping her voice did not betray the roiling conflict within.

"Now," Flagg said, "let's have some of that cake." He clapped Whitney on the shoulder. "Carve her up, Whit. I want a corner piece."

Lucy watched them as she ate. Barry dripped some on his tie, and didn't notice until Flagg pointed it out. "Hey, Barry, what's that?" he asked, pointing.

Barry looked down, and Flagg flicked his nose. Laughter filled the room.

Later, as she lie in bed, struggling to sleep, she replayed it in her head. There was something surreal and grotesque about it. She remembered seeing a picture of Hitler making a funny face and feeling the same way. Such great, monstrous evil...and he was laughing and puffing out his cheeks.

 _Evil doesn't always grimace,_ she thought as she drifted off. _More often than not, it grins and jokes._


	21. Portland

**A week ago today (I think), I started "Lucy's Stand." Late Saturday night, I finished it. I told myself, I said "Flagg1991, you're not going to post the last chapters in one big batch. You have to mete them out slowly." Well, I'm a goddamn liar. An** _ **impatient**_ **goddamn liar. If you follow the story, I apologize for blowing up your inbox with alerts. I just want this thing out so I can move on with my life (I did not imagine it would run 48,000 plus words, by the way). Also, if you followed, thank you for your support. From the bottom of my heart, I appreciate it. I only hope I was able to repay you by providing an entertaining read.**

Lucy Loud watched from the passenger seat of Flagg's car as the outer bands of Vegas gave way to desert. She was surprised to find herself already missing the city. She was not surprised that she missed Deedee.

"You take care of yourself, baby girl," she said that morning and hugged her tight. Lucy hugged her back.

"I'll be back in a month," Lucy assured her.

It was noon, and they were rolling north on US95. In the distance, blue mountains defined the horizon. In the foreground, green scrub blanketed the desert floor. Ten miles outside of town, they passed a white police cruiser parked along the sandy shoulder. A man was leaning against the hood and smoking a cigarette. He was wearing green cargo pants, a black tanktop, and a baseball cap. An automatic rifle was slung over his shoulder. One of Flagg's border guards.

A half hour later, they passed through the tiny town of Indian Springs. Indian Springs AFB was on the right side of the road, a collection of hangers and drab utilitarian buildings behind a chain-link fence. Lucy saw people and vehicles.

"Things are coming along nicely," Flagg said. "We should have a dozen pilots by next summer."

"What are you going to do with them?"

Flagg shrugged. "Recon, mostly. CB radios can only broadcast so far, and since the infrastructure is FUBAR, the only way we have of finding other groups is by looking for them."

Lucy tried to read him, but couldn't. She could hear the lie in his voice, though.

"What about Boulder?"

"We're keeping an eye on it. Like I said, they're busy playing catch up." He glanced at her. "They're having problems over there, people working half days and taking off, people getting drunk and racing cars up and down the streets, people getting trashed on all sorts of junk. Mother Abagail's just letting it all happen. Place is a mess."

The last time Lucy had visited Boulder was three days ago. They had the power on, and the city water main running.

"But one day they'll be on their feet, and they'll come for us."

Lucy nodded.

They lapsed into silence, and drove for a long time with only the sound of the wind. Finally, Flagg pushed a button on the dash, and music filled the car. "Dr. Hook," he said. "These guys are something else."

"What do you want me to do in Portland?" she asked at one point. They were southeast of Carson City. The landscape here was different. The rocky hillface flanking the right side of the road were red.

"Mainly keep an eye on things," Flagg said. "I made a mistake when I put the current guy in charge. I thought he could handle it, but he can't. Not on his own. You're going to be my...liaison."

For some reason, Lucy didn't buy that.

North of Reno, they crossed into California on Route 395. Gentle hills flanked both sides of the road. Brown, grassy fields fell away from the road. Thistle grew along the shoulder. Lucy was vaguely aware that while the speedomieter never rose above 55, they were making good time.

"How do you move so fast?" Lucy asked, genuinely curious.

"What's that?" he asked.

"How do you go so fast? We've only been in the car three hours and we're almost there."

Flagg shrugged.

"You made me go faster too."

Flagg looked at her. "No, I didn't."

Lucy blinked. "You didn't?"

Flagg shook his head. "You must have done that yourself. In which case, you know the answer to your question: It happens. You have a destination in mind and you go."

A half an hour later, Flagg pulled onto I-5 south of Mount Shasta. Pine trees bordered the highway, and grew in the median. They followed the interstate all the way to Portland, the landscape becoming increasingly flat and agricultural. South of the city, the sky darkened, and it began to rain. Flagg put the top up. "Gotta love that Portland weather."

Ten miles out, a blue and yellow cruiser marked OREGON STATE POLICE was parked lengthwise across the road. Three men were standing behind it. Flagg slowed, and one of the men came to the window. "Am I in trouble, officer?" Flagg asked.

"N-No, go right in, sir." He waved, and the car backed out of the way.

Most of Portland had not been resettled. Life had returned to the downtown area around city hall, but most of the outlying districts were empty and dark: Unlike in Vegas, the electrical grid had only been partially brought back online. Downtown had lights, nowhere else did. Flagg explained that he had sent several dozen people from Vegas to help with body recovery at the end of July, and they had just gotten done on September 1. Not done with the whole city, but with enough of the area surrounding downtown that "We shouldn't have to worry about disease." As Flagg piloted the car through a dumpy industrial neighborhood, Lucy thought of all the dead bodies still out there, rotting in the darkness, and shivered.

Five minutes later, Flagg parked along the curb in front of a green park. A statue peeked from a grove of trees. "And here we are," he said.

Portland's government building was a drab, Grecian construct with marble pillars and narrow windows. Big red flags with the stick-man-like figure hung from the roof.

Inside, the lobby was vaulted and dimly lit, the fixtures faded Art Deco. A big oaken reception deck dominated the room. A mousey woman with glasses looked up from a computer screen, and visably paled when she saw Flagg. "Good afternoon, sir," she said.

"Afternoon, Linda. Is Davey-boy around?" 

"Yes, sir, he's in his office. I'll buzz him."

"Don't bother. I wanna surprise him."

Flagg led Lucy down a long hall. Doors with frosted glass panes opened off of it. At the end of the corridor, Flagg knocked on a door.

"Who is it?" a voice came sharply back.

Flagg tried the door, found it locked, and waved his hand: The door opened.

"It's me," Flagg said, poking his head in. "The guy who signs your paychecks."

A fat man in a black suit jumped up from behind a big desk, knocking over a metal cup filled with pens. Lucy saw terror in his eyes. "I'm sorry, sir. I wasn't expecting you."

"I know," Flagg said. "That was the point. How're things going?"

"Good, sir," the man said, coming around the desk. His eyes were blue and his hair was black. His cheeks were red and his nose looked more like a snout. He shook Flagg's hand.

"Dave, this is Lucy Loud. She's going to be staying here for a while"

Dave nodded at her, freezing when he saw the stone around her neck. He, Lucy noticed, wasn't wearing one.

"Lucy, this is Dave Evans, the head haunch around here." He looked at Dave. "Lucy's going to be my...representative," Flagg said. "My eyes and ears on the ground, so to speak."

"That sounds great, sir," Dave said. Lucy read his energy. His nervousness had graduated to fear. _A political officer,_ he thought, _great. She'll watch us and report everything she sees._

"I gotta get going if I wanna be back for teatime," Flagg said. He laid his hand on Lucy's shoulder. "I want a report from you every day. Tell me what you see. If you think anything's a problem, mention it. Alright?"

"How will I get it to you?" she asked.

"Send it with your mind." He looked at Dave and grinned devilishly. "Lloyd says Lucy's another Flagg, so think happy thoughts."

 _Oh shit,_ Dave thought. Suddenly his mind went blank.

"Great," he smiled and laughed nervously.

"You two kids get aqquainted. I got places to go and people to see."

Flagg left, and though Lucy was glad, she was also _not_. She was alone in a new city and knew no one. Flagg at least was familiar.

Homesickness spread through Lucy. Homesickness for Las Vegas.

"Well," Dave said, "let's get you settled in."

\- 2 –

Lucy sat alone in her new apartment across from city hall, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall. The building housed most of Portland's workforce in one and two bedroom units. Hers was on the fifth floor. Compared to her suite at the MGM, it was cramped. The walls were white and splotched with old food and water stains. The kitchen floor was cracked linoleum, and the bathroom fixtures were fifty years old if they were a day. Mildew ringed the tub. In Vegas, the water pressure was weak. In Portland, it was nearly nonexistent.

Things were left over from the previous owner. A framed black and white photo of a man and woman on their wedding day, a hi-fi, and a cabinet full of vinyl records. Lucy went through them: They were primarily oldies, country/western, and disco. In the bedroom, a bookshelf had been built over the bed. It was crammed with yellowed paperbacks by John D. MacDonald, Richard Stark, and Raymond Chandler. Hidden behind them was a small white book. Lucy retrieved it.

 _The New Testament_ read the gold script on the cover.

Sitting in the living room, Lucy read by lamplight. A lot of the language went over her head, but a warm feeling spread through her nevertheless. Presently, she was in a rocking chair, gazing through the rain-sluiced window. She saw groups of people walking around, some of them yelling and laughing.

She closed her eyes and sent her mind back to Vegas. Flagg hadn't arrived yet. She saw Lloyd sitting in a bar and sipping a drink. Barry was with him. Neither spoke.

In Boulder, Mother Abagail was missing. She'd disappeared from her little house on Arapahoe Street the day before, leaving a note behind saying that she had sinned against God by being prideful, and needed to "go into the wilderness." A search party had been formed and was beating the hills around the city. Lucy knew instinctively that they wouldn't find her.

Lucy worried about her. She was so old.

 _Didn't you try to kill her less than two months ago?_

Guilt welled inside of her. Yes, but she didn't know any better. She allowed Flagg to lie to her.

What was she going to do?

She still didn't know. She opened the Bible again and hoped she would find an answer, but even though she read and felt more at peace, she did not.


	22. Last Days

_**Two minutes to midnight,  
The hands that threaten doom.**_

 _ **Two minutes to midnight  
To kill the unborn in the womb**_

 **\- Iron Maiden**

On September 4, Lucy dreamed of a man called The Judge. He was the black man she had seen leaving Boulder to spy. That day, he was run down by two border guards and killed in a shootout. He managed to take one of the guards with him, but the other shot him in the head, leaving his face unrecognizable. The guard panicked, and was moments away from getting back into his car and fleeing when Flagg appeared out of nowhere and...something. Lucy didn't know. She woke up stifling a scream before she could see, but something told her it was bad.

During the day, she roamed the corridors of City Hall, the streets surrounding it, and the various little café's serving the workers. In the evening, she spent an hour or so at Taft's, the city's sole bar, drinking soda and listening for anything to put in her report to Flagg. She heard very little. No words critical of Flagg or his regime were spoken. People knew better than to openly voice their real feelings. From what she read of their energy, however, most were afraid. Some mildly, others greatly. On the 5th, she read the energy of a man who was planning to leave that night. She did not mention that when she sent her psychic missive.

At night, she read the Bible in her apartment and sent her mind to Vegas and Boulder. On September 8th, Dayna, who had been sleeping with Lloyd for over a week and pumping him for information, was found out. Or rather, Flagg decided to finally take her. Poor Lloyd didn't know she was spying; Lucy was disturbed, however, when he agreed to help take her and deliver her to Flagg, where, he knew, she would die. Lucy watched as Dayna met with Flagg in his suite. Oh, Flagg was charming. "You people don't need to spy, we'll be open and tell you what you want to know" and "we're just trying to get along, like you." He even told her he would let her go, and buzzed Lloyd to tell him to "get Dayna's bike ready." Lucy watched as Lloyd got the message, replied, and then stood by the intercom, waiting. Flagg asked her the identity of the third spy (the blonde man, Lucy thought; apparently Flagg couldn't "see" him), and when she refused, he called Lloyd back. "Hold off on Dayna's bike for a minute."

"Sure thing," Lloyd replied.

Lucy was so disappointed in Lloyd that she could barely breathe.

In the suite, Flagg threatened to do terrible things to Dayna unless she told who the third spy was. Flagg advanced on her, and Lucy watched in horror as Dayna smashed the sliding glass door to the balcony and impaled her throat on a shard of glass.

The vision affected Lucy so badly that she threw up. That night, as she tried to find sleep, she kept thinking of Dayna and the sacrifice she had made to protect Tom Cullen, and, for some reason, it made the whole sad affair that much worse.

For several days, all was quiet in Vegas and Boulder, and Lucy was able to focus more on the job at hand. Every so often she heard something critical of Flagg, but did not mention it. She met with Dave Evans in the afternoons for a status report. He was always nervous and sweaty. _Poor guy thinks I'm going to get him killed._

On September 10, Mother Abagail returned to Boulder. She was thin, frail, and dying. That same night, an explosion in a house overlooking the city killed several of the committee members. Lucy tried to discern why, but was perturbed when she couldn't. It had something to do with someone named "Harold" though. She saw a pudgy, bespectacled teenage boy in her mind's eye, but knew nothing more. On her deathbed, Mother Abagail gathered the four surviving committee members (a Stu Redman, a Glenn Bateman, a Ralph Brentner, and a Larry Underwood) and told them that God wanted them to go west. "God didn't bring you together to form committees or send spies. He brought you together to _stand._ You are to leave this very day with only the clothes on your backs. You will walk west and face _him_."

Flagg didn't know until the next day.

"We'll take them when they come," he told Lloyd. They were standing in Flagg's suite. Flagg's hands were on his hips. Suddenly he pointed and screamed at Lloyd, and Lloyd shrank back. _"Then we'll put them on fucking crosses!"_

Flagg shook his head. "In the meantime, I want those planes ready to fly by the end of the week."

"We only have three pilots capable..."

"I don't fucking care, Lloyd. Three pilots are plenty."

All that day, Lucy went through the motions of life, her stomach twisted with worry. She could no longer wait. She had to act.

But how?

Alone on her lunch break, she sent her mind to Indian Springs. Fighter jets sat in hangers, ready to do evil. She willed one to explode, but it didn't. She tried harder, summoning all the energy she could, but again, nothing happened.

Stricken, she moved around the base, looking for something, anything, to help her.

In the mess hall, she found it. A familiar face was alone at a table, eating a sandwich. A group of men came over and sat across from him.

"Hey, Trashy, how's it going?" one of them asked.

"Alright," Trash replied.

"You been playing with those bombs all day. You're gonna wind up wetting the bed."

A strange look crossed Trash's face.

"Yeah," another added, then, to the others, "better hide those matches, Trashy's in town."

Trash began to tremble.

The men laughed and laughed. Suddenly, Trash got up and fled into the hot desert day. At the table, the men looked shamefaced. "I think we hurt his feelings," one said.

"Shit, I was just messing with him," another said, "man, I didn't mean for him to get upset."

 _Now or never,_ Lucy thought.

She found Trash alone in a hanger, his knees drawn up to his chest and tears streaming from his eyes. She imagined herself slipping into his mind, and did.

 _Hey, Trashy, why don't you burn up the school?_ a curel, mocking voice rang through his head.

 _Hide those matches, Trash is here!_

"Trash..."

Trash, hitherto rocking back and forth, stopped and cocked his head.

"Trash...can you hear me?"

"L-Lucy?"

"It's me, Trash. They were making fun of you."

"Just like the kids in school," Trash said bitterly, and resumed his rocking.

"You have to get back at them. You have to make them pay."

"Yes," Trash muttered, "but how?"

"Burn it down. Burn it all down."

"With fire?" he asked excitedly.

"Bombs. Bomb the planes. Bomb the fuel trucks. Bomb the mess hall. Bomb everything. Imagine the fire, imagine the blast."

Trash grinned.

Lucy watched as he slipped into the armory and loaded a back with over a dozen devices. She gleamed from his thoughts that they were timed mines. Whatever that meant.

Bombs in hand, Trash went to each of the planes and stuck one under a wing. He set them to blow in fifteen minutes.

Next, he went back to the storeroom and got more, which he stuck under the cab of each of the fifteen fuels trucks lined up on the tarmac. He had two left over, so he stuck one to the belly of a helicopter, and another to the wall of the air tower.

"Now run."

He nodded and giggled. He took an ATV from a hanger and drove into the desert, where he stopped and, using a pair of binoculars, watched.

The first hanger to blow was the one closest to the mess hall. The sound was enormous, the fire mushrooming up and out. The windows in the mess hall and the main office shattered. People ran outside to see what was going on. A group of them had just enough time to get close to the second hanger before it blew. Lucy saw bodies hitting the ground. People were on fire, screaming and rolling on the tarmac. One man fell to his knees as flames consumed him. The sound of his agonized wails made her sick.

Minutes later, the third hanger blew, then the fourth. Next, the first fuel truck Trash hit went up in a ball of fire, and each one in turn erupted like dominoes in hell. Smoke and fire filled the sky.

Trash laughed and clapped his hands.

When Lucy opened her eyes, she was crying. _I'm sorry, Trash,_ she thought, and wept harder. She pictured the burning men on the tarmac, and screamed in a mixture of pain and self-loathing.

What had she done? God, what had she done?

By sundown, the fires had been extinguished and the dead and dying carted away. A dozen men lie wounded in the infirmary, some of them burned so badly that they stood no chance of seeing sunrise. Steve Jessup, who had been posted to Indian Springs after the arrival of several better trained doctors, cared for the injured.

A search party was formed and sent out into the desert to find Trash. Among those killed were two of Vegas's best pilots. The third took command of a helicopter and brought his best pupil with him. There were others being trained, but they could barely get off the ground.

An hour before sundown, as the chopper soared over the desert, Trash's final bomb blew: The bird shattered into a million flaming pieces and smashed into the hardpan, taking with it the last two pilots Flagg had.

Lucy supposed it was a victory, but it didn't feel like one. It felt like she had just murdered over a dozen (fairly) innocent people and framed poor Trash.

The news reached Vegas quickly. Lloyd was the one who had gotten the call, but he was too afraid to take it to Flagg, so he wound up in the bar, drinking. Past sundown, Jerry Dunkin, Indian Springs' assistant base commander, found him and slid into the booth across from him.

"How is it?" Lloyd asked.

Dunkin told him about the chopper exploding. "Great," Lloyd said, tipping back his glass.

"I don't think you understand," Dunkin said, "we got no pilots left. Who's gonna fly those fucking planes Trashy _didn't_ get?"

When Lloyd finally brought the news to Flagg, Flagg punched him in the face, then proceeded to tear his suite apart. The ferocity of his rage frightened her, even though she was hundreds of miles away.

"I want him found, and I want him shot, do you understand me? Shoot him in the fucking head!"

Lloyd nodded, blood trickling from his nose, and then scrambled out of there. Alone, Flagg stormed out onto the balcony and looked up at the moon. "I'll get you bastards. I promise that."

In the desert, Trash slowly realized what he had done, and the horror overwhelmed him. He bit the hand that fed him. He bit it and drew blood and broke bone. _He_ would be so furious with him. And so disappointed. He had to something to make up for it, something to show that he was sorry.

An idea struck him. To make up for destroying little things, he would bring _him_ a big thing. The biggest thing in the world. He had maps of government installations in his pocket. He took it out, studied it, and set off to bring Flagg _the big fire._

\- 2 –

A week passed. Lucy sent Flagg his daily report, but it was filled with lies. She only left her apartment and walked the city to make a show of working, but in reality, she was consumed by her own thoughts. She sent her mind out on the 13th, and saw the quartet from Boulder crossing into Utah. _Not quartet_ she'd thought, _a_ ka-tet, whatever that meant. In Vegas, Flagg was being eaten alive by worry. On the 14th, she found him moon gazing on the balcony. His guard was down, and she was able to read his thoughts:

 _It's coming apart. My powers are slipping, my memory's going. When this is over, I'm bringing Lucy back and draining her powers..._

The direct threat against her made her stomach knot. Things were reaching a head. Soon, she would have to decide what to do. She thought briefly of leaving Portland and making her way to Boulder, but that felt too much like giving in and running away. She made her choice back in Nebraska and she would stick with it to the bitter end.

And the end, she felt, was hurtling closer and closer with each passing day. Her end or Flagg's she couldn't tell.


	23. Lucy's Stand

**Lucy's Stand**

 _ **This is the end, beautiful friend  
This is the end, my only friend, the end  
Of our elaborate plans, the end  
Of everything that stands, the end  
No safety or surprise, the end  
I'll never look into your eyes, again**_

 **\- The Doors**

 _ **Come on down and meet your maker  
Come on down and make the stand  
Come on down, come on down,  
Come on down and make the stand.**_

 **\- The Alarm**

On September 15, Lucy was aimlessly wandering city hall when Linda, Dave's secretary, found her. "Ms. Loud? Mr. Evans wants to see you. He says it's important."

In his office, Evans looked as sweaty and nervous as ever. When she entered, he flashed a strained smile. "Hi, Ms. Loud. I'm sorry to bother you." He always sounded so anxious when he spoke to her, like a child worrying a hot-tempered parent. She thought it was funny at first, a grown man deferring to an eight-year-old girl, but it quickly got on her nerves.

"That's fine, I was going on lunch anyway. What is it?" She sat.

"Flagg has ordered everyone back to Vegas for an event. I don't know what kind of event, but tomorrow afternoon everyone will be loaded onto buses and sent to the city. Everyone, that is, except essential personnel, including you and I."

Lucy nodded. She had been expecting this. The ka-tet was less than two hundred miles from the Nevada border. Flagg's sentinels were camped out in Utah south of St. George, a dozen men with a van, a Nevada State Police cruiser, and several ATVs in case they needed to go off road, which they wouldn't: Lucy had read each man, and saw in him the intent to allow themselves to be taken, if that's what God wanted. They were scared, homesick, and filled with doubt. They knew not how they were stand, only that they would. She remembered Flagg saying he wanted them on crosses, and shuddered. He was going to make an example out of them and he wanted everyone to see.

She was sacred and filled with doubt too, but she drew strength from their determination: they would make their stand, and she would make hers, come what may. She didn't know when Flagg would recall his masses (she half imagined there would be a lengthy show trial, but apparently he wanted them put right to death), but she knew he would. Now, she was being told it would happen tomorrow.

The end was upon her.

"Alright," she said, "is that it?"

"Y-Yes, ma'am."

Lucy went out into the warm Indian summer day. The sky was bright, birds chirruped, and a light breeze blew across the city.

 _You're probably going to die._

That thought strangely did not bother her. Dying was worth doing the right thing, and standing up to Flagg was the right thing.

She ate lunch and took a long walk in the park. She thought back over the past few months, and realized that she didn't recognize the Lucy Loud who watched her family die at the end of June. She was different now. She didn't know _how_ exactly, only that she was. Did all that really only happen two and a half months ago? God, it felt like it had been years.

As dusk drew on, she went back to her apartment and read her Bible. When her eyes were heavy, she stuck it into her bag and took out the photo album she had taken from Royal Woods. She paged through it, smiling fondly as memories washed over her.

 _I'll see you soon,_ she thought as she stared at a family portrait. They were all standing in the backyard and smiling. Lynn was holding a football. Luan was wearing her Graucho Marx glasses. Luna was holding her guitar.

She found that she looked forward to seeing them so badly that it hurt.

She put the album back into her bag and gazed out the window. The gibbous moon hung brightly in the clear, dark sky. She sighed and said a silent prayer.

Later, she tried to sleep, but couldn't, and dawn found her sitting in her chair by the window. Before sunrise, Tom Cullen, Boulder's third spy, slipped out of Vegas and started the long trek home. She saw him now, sheltering under a rock outcropping and struggling to sleep.

She passed the day by that window, watching. At noon, a fleet of Portland school buses parked outside city hall. At one, she a vision came to her uninvited: The ka-tet was being taken by Flagg's men. They were stopped, questioned, and manhandled into the back of two separate police cars. Only, Lucy noticed, there were three of them. Redman was missing. She found him lying in a deep gully, his leg broken. He was lucky, she thought; his friends faced a much worse fate.

At two, the buses were loaded, and took off one-by-one. After they had been gone nearly a half hour, Lucy got up, threw her bag over her shoulder, and left her apartment for the final time. She walked south through a maze of streets. Abandoned factories, warehouses, and plants long closed grew up around her. She followed I-5 along the Willamette River, and crossed it on the Marquam Bridge. Behind her, Downtown Portland huddled darkly against the leaden sky. By the time she was clear of the outlying suburbs, it had started to rain. She took no notice.

Ten miles out, she came across a border guard. He was sitting in a dark blue van with POLICE written along the side in yellow. He saw her and got out, throwing a cigarette away. She recognized him from the bar. His name escaped her, but he knew exactly who she was.

"Sorry, Ms. Loud, I have orders that no one gets in and no one gets out. You're going to have to turn around."

Lucy didn't stop. "I'm leaving."

"Can't let you do that, I'm sorry."

She kept walking.

He laid his hand on the gun at his hip, and Lucy reacted, surprising herself: She blinked, and the gun was ripped from his holster. She reached up and grabbed it. He blinked, unsure of what had happened. "Move," she said. The van, as if of its own accord, rolled back and came to rest against the retaining wall.

For a moment he looked stricken. "Move!"

As if by an unseen hand, he was ripped to the side, hitting the van and bouncing off. Screaming, he fell back against the concrete and smacked his head, dropping to the ground. Lucy read him. He was unconscious but would live.

She walked for a long time, the clouds breaking and revealing the sun. By five, she was in California, grassy hills, wire fences, and dirt farm roads surrounding her. An hour later, she crossed into Nevada south of Lake Tahoe. In her mind was a picture of Las Vegas. _You have a destination in mind and you go_ Flagg told her.

The sun arched across the desert sky, its light going from baking white to cool scarlet. She thought as she walked. Of her family, of her life before, of her life in Vegas. She thought of Lloyd delivering Dayna to Flagg, and her heart hurt. She thought of Barry kicking people's doors open in the middle of the night and dragging them away. She thought of poor Trash out there in the desert somewhere, probably dead because of her. She thought of things she liked, and things she missed. She thought of sitting at the kitchen table back in Royal Woods and writing poems in sunlight such as this. She thought of petty arguments she had with her sisters, of hugs and oaths of love and loyalty. She remembered sitting helplessly by as her family died one-by-one. She thought of Lincoln reaching out to her, his eyes pleading, as he choked on his own phlegm. She cried one more time.

 _I'm not helpless anymore._

As late afternoon gave way to dusk, she passed Indian Springs AFB. Of the dozen hangers, only two stood. The rest were in varying states of destruction. The framework of one was still standing like an elephantine skeleton in an eldritch graveyard. The place emitted great energy, and she read it: She saw bodies lying on the tarmac, saw men lingering in the infirmary, saw the looks of pain and terror on flash-fried faces. It was Saturday, she realized, September 16. Had she not used Trash to destroy the planes (and the pilots), Boulder would be a pile of ash, its residents either dead or hiding in the hills, terrified and waiting for Flagg's ground troops.

As she drew closer to Vegas, the air crackled with dark electricity. A sense of finality hung over it. This really was the end.

Her steps faltered, and her determination nearly crumbled. She took out the photo alumb and looked at the family portrait. That gave her the strength she needed. Soon, it was dark, the sky black and star-splashed. Ahead, the lights of Vegas beamed brightly. She closed her eyes, and saw a stage being hurriedly erected in front of the MGM Grand. Upon it were not crosses but giant X's, two of them. People had started to gather, watching curiously as a team of men in hardhats worked.

Just outside the city, she came across another border guard. Two men were leaning against a police car and talking. Lucy didn't know why, but she knew she had to kill them.

"Hey, who's that?" one of them asked.

The other turned, and Lucy blinked. The car exploded, engulfing the men. They screamed and sizzled.

She closed her eyes and her eyes and walked past. To Vegas. To her Armageddon.

\- 2 –

Flagg was sitting in his suite, thinking of the night ahead, when Lloyd came in without knocking. Earlier in the day, the three men from Boulder had been captured and placed in the Clark County lock-up. Flagg wanted to make them grovel, so he went to Bateman, a mouthy old college professor from New England. Flagg offered to let Bateman and his friends walk free if he got down on his knees and begged, and Bateman fucking _laughed_. Flagg was so incensed her ordered Lloyd to shoot him, which he did. Since then, Lloyd's eyes had been hollow and haunted. Flagg was beginning to think that Lloyd would soon have an accident. He wasn't cut out for this. Why Flagg thought so in the first place was beyond him. Just another sign of things coming apart.

"You should really knock," Flagg said.

"Lucy Loud's gone missing from Portland."

For a second, Lloyd's words didn't register. Then it dawned on Flagg what he had said, and he whipped around. "What?"

"She walked out of town at three this afternoon. Knocked the border guard out. He said she disarmed him without even touching him."

Cold horror coursed through Flagg's veins. He turned around, muttered, "Oh, shit," and didn't respond when Lloyd asked him what was happening.

"I don't know," he said after a few long minutes. He turned around. "But I want her shot, Lloyd. Shot on sight. She's extremely dangerous."

Lloyd blinked. "You want me to have Lucy Loud shot?"

"Did I fucking _stutter,_ Lloyd?"

"Alright," Lloyd said.

In the hall, he leaned against the door and rubbed his temples. _Extremely dangerous._ Lloyd couldn't say he doubted that. She was probably as dangerous as Flagg himself. Still, there was no way in hell he was going to order Lucy Loud shot. If Flagg didn't like that, well...Lloyd was prepared to face the consequences.

Sighing, he went back outside. In less than an hour, the two remaining Boulderites would be executed.

\- 3 –

People packed the streets of Las Vegas, many of them toting weapons. Lucy pushed her way through the crowd. Ahead, the MGM Grand loomed over the gathering like a dark castle.

She knocked into a woman, who turned around, a chastising look on her face.

"Lucy?" Deedee said. She smiled and took Lucy in her arms. "Barry said you weren't coming. I'm so glad to see you."

"I came anyway," Lucy said. She looked into her friend's eyes, her heart welling. "Deedee...I want you to do something for me."

"Anything," Deedee said. "Just name it."

Lucy leaned close, even though the crowd noise was too loud for her voice to travel far. "Get in your car and get out of here. Now."

Deedee blinked. "What?"

"Something very bad is going to happen, and I want you to get out before it does."

Lucy didn't know what "something very bad was" but as she spoke the words, she knew it to be true. Something very, very bad was going to happen, and a lot of people were going to die.

"What are you talking about, Luce? You're scaring me."

Lucy took Deedee's hand and squeezed it. "Just...please leave town, okay? Quick."

With that, Lucy went off into the crowd, and Deedee gaped behind her. She would not leave Vegas.

Lucy was close to the middle of the crowd when a collective cheer went up, and people started pushing and shoving. The mass moved as a whole to the left, carrying Lucy along. She saw an armored car ambling down the street. Men in red shirts and white hardhats were perched on the roof, automatic weapons in hand. It came to a stop, and the men jumped off, wading into the crowd with punches to push them back. Lucy slipped around back, and watched as a set of double doors opened. Barry and a few other men jumped out. "Get that crowd back!" Barry roared, pulling his sidearm. "Only Flagg can do that!"

A man in handcuffs was pushed from the back of the car, stumbling and nearly falling. _Underwood_. He was tall and handsome with black hair, blue eyes, and stubble on his rugged cheeks. A black man in loud red pants dragged another man out of the back. _Brentner_. He was older, a plaid shirt stretched over his considerable stomach. Standing protectively around the two lost souls, Barry and the others moved through the crowd toward the stage. "If anyone gets too close, blast a few heads off!"

Lucy started after them, fighting her way through the seething mass of humanity. Someone bumped into her, and she fell to the ground, hitting her head on the pavement. Someone stepped on her legs, and went down too.

Thinking fast, she crawled under the armored car before she could be trampled, and came out the other end, where she got to her feet. The men were being led up a small set of stairs to the stage. A shirtless man in a black executioner's hood stood by a pulley system. Barry and his men pushed Brentner and Underwear each against one of the big X's, and chained their hands above their heads. A hush fell over the crowd as Barry and Underwood exchanged shouted words, Barry pointing his gun.

" _...a shot in the head looks pretty good to me!"_

Barry stepped back, and the executioner pulled a level. With a series of loud, mechanical clicks, Underwood and Brentner's arms were stretched tighter.

Suddenly, the floodlights bathing the crowd went dark, and Lucy started. A single spotlight came on and fell upon the stage just as Randall Flagg came out and waved, Lloyd Henreid by his side. A massive cheer went up and continued for a long time before Lloyd signaled the crowd to be quiet. Lucy's stomach turned as she watched Flagg smiling and mugging for the assembled.

"You propose nothing in the sight of God!" Brentner cried.

"Oooooh," Flagg said into a microphone, and the crowd laughed.

"Listen to me!" Underwood shouted. "I don't expect you people to stop this, but I want you to remember what you see here tonight, because next time it might be your turn to die this way."

Lucy's mind flashed back to poor Heck Drogan, hanging from a cross in Century Park, his soft eyes pecked by hungry crows.

"Are you finished, Mr. Underwood?" Flagg asked, his voice booming over the city.

Underwood said something that Lucy didn't catch.

"I'll take that as a yes," Flagg said. He reached his hand out, and Lloyd handed him a rolled piece of parchment. Flagg opened it and read:

"I, Randall Flagg, on this, the seventeenth of September, Year One, Year of the Plague..."

"Why don't you tell them your _real_ name?" Brentner asked.

"...do hereby state that these men are the insurrectionists responsible for the destruction of our unarmed scout planes at Indian Springs, and for the murders of thirteen men. For these crimes, they are sentenced to death...by dismemberment."

A frenzied cheer went up. Lucy's blood ran cold. She looked at the people around her, their faces twisted in hate. She knew these people! How could they _cheer_ for this?

Flagg waved his hand and silence fell. "It is the duty of each of you to witness this punishment." Here he began rolling the paper back up. "However, those of you with small children are excused."

He looked at Barry. "Take it, Barry."

Lucy started pushing her way forward, summoning all the energy in her tiny body. Before she could do anything, though, someone yelled out, "Hey! Hey, you people!"

Lucy looked to the stairs leading up to the stage. Whitney was standing there, waving his arms. "This ain't how Americans act! We gotta stop this! We gotta stop this!"

"Whitney," Flagg said into the microphone, his tone that of a parent scolding a misbehaving child. Whitney turned, his face white and drawn. "You should have kept still. I would have let you go. Why would I want to keep a jellyfish like you around anyway?"

Flagg pointed, and a ball of electricity shot from his fingertip. Lucy screamed and tried to stop it with her mind, but it hit Whitney, and with a gurgle and a jerk, he fell to the ground, his body thrashing.

"You bastard!" Lucy screamed.

Flagg turned, and when he saw her, his face went white. He glanced at Lloyd and, holding the microphone away, said something. The crowd was murmuring now.

Flagg pointed at her, but Lloyd, hardening his face, shook his head. Flagg spun on his heels, murder in his eyes, but stopped when a loud din rose from the back of the crowd. Lucy turned, and watch the assembled parting like the Red Sea. Then, as she watched, a horrible figure came into view, its skin red and melting. It was wearing goggles and riding an ATV. It was chanting something in a groaning voice. _See-a-bool-ah_ it sounded like.

Trash.

He was riding an ATV and pulling a cart. People fell away, and Lucy saw with wide eyes what was in it: A green missile with a yellow stripe, idenrtical to the one Lucy had seen in her mind when she first saw Trash in the mess hall way back in July.

" _The Big One...for you!"_ Trash called.

Trash came to a stop, and the crowd went deadly still. Trash removed his goggles (some of his skin coming with them, Lucy noted with horror) and looked around. On stage, Flagg whispered something to Lloyd, then pushed him forward. Looking scared, Lloyd came slowly down the stairs, being careful to avoid Whiney, who still crackled with electricity. His shouldered his way through the crowd, then came to Trash. "Trash?"

"That you, Lloyd?" Trash asked. "I can't see very well. My...eyes are all funny."

"It's me, Trashy," Lloyd said, "what do you have there?"

"The Big One," Trash rasped. "The fire. The _AAAAAAAAA-Bomb_." He giggled obscenely. Lucy was transfixed, her heart beginning to race. On stage, Flagg looked frightened.

"Listen to me, Trash," Lloyd said, "you have to get that away. It's dangerous."

On hearing that last word, from the second-in-command no less, the people of Vegas got scared. The crowd moved as one away from the spot where Trash was parked, voices becoming excited. On stage, Barry and the executioner both backed quickly away.

"Come back!" Flagged roared into the microphone, "come back, you cowards!"

Flagg turned to Lloyd. "Shoot him, Lloyd! Kill the crazy bastard!"

Lloyd reached for his gun, but a strange crackling noise filled the night. Lucy looked, and watched in wonderment as the electricity hitherto sizzling Whitney's body rose up into the air in a loose, whitish-blue ball. Before her very eyes, it took the shape over a hand and moved toward the bomb.

 _The hand of God._

Her legs went weak, and she fell to her knees, her neck craned to see. People were screaming and throwing their arms up to shield themselves from the ever growing light. Lucy, on the other hand, basked in it, its warm glow caressing her skin like summer sunshine. The hand moved closer to the bomb, and Lloyd too went to his knees. "Oh, shit!" he cried. "We're all fucked!"

The hand was gripping the bomb now, squeezing it. Lucy watched with wide, reverent eyes. A snarling drew her attention to the stage, though.

Randall Flagg, the man she had once loved and admired, stood in front of Vegas in his true form. Gone was the brown hair and handsome face, replaced by a horned demon with long, needlepoint fangs. In a flash, his clothes dropped to the stage, and a black crow lifted up.

Reaching out with her mind, Lucy grabbed him, and held him in place.

 _No._

 _LET GO!_ he raged, fighting against her with a strength born of terror. She clamped down harder. _LET ME GO, YOU STUPID BIT-_

Cold, white fire filled the world.

 **I don't like butting in like this because it strikes me as either desperate, egotistical, or simply amateurish, but I feel like I have to say something. The chapter you just read, from the point the armored car appears to the moment the bomb goes off is taken almost verbatim from the movie. I made one or two slight omissions for the sake of brevity, and made a few additions. For instance, in the movie, Lloyd does not shout "Oh, shit, we're all fucked!", but he does in the novel. Likewise, Flagg uses the phrase "Year One, Year of the Plague" in the novel, but not the movie. I wanted to combine elements from both.**


	24. Epilogue

In a place of eternal light, Lincoln took Lucy by the hand and smiled. "Are you ready to see the others?"

Lucy started to speak, but bowed her head. "I-I'm ashamed."

"Don't be," Lincoln said. "Everyone's really excited to see you. _I'm_ excited to see you."

Smiling, Lucy followed her brother into forever.


End file.
